Spiky Thorne: Gutterpunk Witch
by Artemisia Absinthium
Summary: She never knew what she was. They never knew she existed. But one night, Bella "Spiky" Thorne turns up on a certain wizard's doorstep, and begins learning the secrets of her clouded past. This is my first story ever, please, please review it.
1. Serendipity

**Chapter One  
  
Serendipity  
**  
Running was a good thing, maybe the only good thing left to her. She'd been running for ages now, her legs moving in a rhythm she no longer had to think about, her feet pounding the wet concrete through the soles of inadequate tennis shoes. The police cruiser peeped round the corner as she dashed headlong into the curve the street took, once again losing sight of them. She kept running.  
  
The tires squealed in the rain as the car tried to avoid hitting something on the slick, wet street. Spiky heard it stop, and then move forward again, and saw that she was coming to a dead end street. Without hesitating or slackening her pace, she vaulted over a low fence and into someone's back garden and kept going. Now going through backyards, she moved no slower than she had on the street.  
  
A passer-by would have heard her before seeing her -if they heard her at all. Her footfalls were drowned in the pounding and obliterating downpour, and her breathing was heavy but calculatedly quiet. She was a sodden streak in rain-dark, ragged jeans and a cast-off jacket covered in patches and studs, hair of indefinite colour plastered down over her face, where red livid spots burned in the centres of otherwise pale cheeks. She climbed another wall and kept going.  
  
She couldn't hear the police anymore, and decided they had probably lost her. Lucky, that, because she was pretty damn lost herself.  
  
As Spiky went on, the houses and yards grew bigger and bigger until she was in the most enormous garden she had ever seen attached to someone's house. The house was huge too. For a moment she paused and looked around, thinking the flowers very pretty and the grass very well kept. But a moment later, she had to run for it again, because she heard a low growl from the shadows and was suddenly faced by two sleek, angry Dobermans. Over the muddy grass she ran, the run now more serious than before. Pelting forward, she felt herself growing tired, her muscles burning in her legs, her breath coming harder. She had to make it to the wall.  
  
Grabbing hold of the ivy that covered it she climbed up out of reach of the dogs and was reaching up to pull herself over...  
  
"_OW!"_ she hissed, cursing roundly under her breath and stealing a nervous glance up at the house. She looked at her hand and found it bleeding from half a dozen or so small cuts that crisscrossed her palm. There was broken glass in the mortar.  
  
Using her legs and her unharmed hand she carefully pulled herself into a standing position on the top of the wall and looked around quickly. On the other side there was nothing but trees and darkness and she couldn't see more than ten feet into it. But the dogs were leaping for her, and as she looked back, a light went on in the big house. She jumped down, into the dark.  
  
Leaning against a tree a little ways in, she wondered if she had stumbled on a park. These trees seemed to go one for ages and ages, and there was no light coming from anywhere. She closed her eyes a moment and tried to get her breath, and after a bit she looked around more carefully. Above her were tall oak trees, blocking out any sight of the sky and intensifying the sounds the rain made as it came down on their round, flat leaves. As she looked harder into the distance it seemed she could see little lights, as if from windows, twinkling past the trees.  
  
Spiky straightened herself and began walking towards the light, feeling nervous here in the dark. She moved swiftly and silently except for a couple blunders owing to the fact that, if she had bothered to stop and check, she couldn't have seen her hand in front of her face.  
  
The lights of the house approached more quickly than she had expected, but before she had quite reached the point where she could see the house, or even very far out of the trees, a shrill voice like nothing she'd ever imagined rang out in the dark, cutting through the rain-sounds like a razor.  
  
"Stay there, don't move a muscle, you! Stay where you is! I'm bringing out the Master to see to you, yes I am!"  
  
She looked around wildly. She couldn't see the speaker but the voice had frightened her badly. What had it been? That voice, it couldn't have been human, it sounded like a bloody cartoon. She heard tiny feet scurrying off in the direction of the house and thought she saw a funny shape in dim silhouette, very close to the ground.  
  
_A dog?  
_  
No, it was different; it was the wrong shape to be a dog. She squinted and couldn't see it anymore, but had caught a glimpse of what looked like gangly legs and something that was either a head or a body...She shivered.  
  
She didn't know if the speaker was still there or not. She had not heard a peep since the scampering thing. If they were still there they were being perfectly still and silent as the grave. She couldn't even hear breathing. But on the other hand, if they weren't still here, she had heard only one pair of footsteps leave the area and that would mean that that tiny little thing had...spoken to her?  
  
She pondered a moment and decided to make a break for it. She ran as hard as she could pelt, skirting the edge of the trees and shearing off to the left, meaning to circle the house and find another place where she could get over the wall, broken glass be damned.  
  
And then several things happened at once.  
  
The first was a loud CRACK! That split the air and made her insides do a back flip.  
  
The second was a shouted word that was drowned out by the rain, and a flash of light.  
  
The third was that, as Spiky fell immobile to the ground, she realized that the walls were all twelve feet high if they were an inch. She couldn't have gotten out anyway.

* * *


	2. Hospitality

**Chapter Two  
  
Hospitality**  
  
She couldn't have told you when she woke up. She wasn't, after all, sure she had been...out? That wasn't it. It had felt like she was frozen, and then she couldn't see, couldn't feel. She flexed her fingers, and tried to move her arm. Blinking, she realized she was inside somewhere; there was a rug under her, that the air was very warm. _Oh, shit..._she thought. There were ropes around her wrists and ankles. She lay very still.  
  
There was a small sound of a footstep somewhere behind her, and as she couldn't see through the back of her head she had no way of knowing what sort of person it was. She guessed she was in their house, and fearfully wondered how this person, with his tiny, squeaky-voiced security guard, treated trespassers.  
  
A hand on her shoulder shook her, and then rolled her onto her back. She found herself staring up into the face of a pale, blonde man with long hair, who looked into her eyes for a moment, and then smiled.  
  
"I know you're awake, young lady, there's no use pretending. It was very clever of you though, I must say. How long have you been conscious?"  
  
She gave a powerful start and let out her breath. "All right, you got me. I was trying to see who you were before you knew I was awake."  
  
He took a step back and looked at her impassively. She was trying to move into a sitting position and found it hard to do, her limbs still sluggish, as well as tied. "Agh, what did you _do_ to me?"  
  
A smile flickered across his face and he raised a single eyebrow. "What is your name, young lady, and what were you doing on my property?" He had a slow, smooth, cultured voice. She could tell he knew how to get people to tell him things, and that she might be in danger. She decided, though, that honesty was the best policy for a raggedy, legally missing, homeless girl in the home of a private individual who, at least so far, had decided to take the law into his own hands.  
  
"My name is Spiky...Bella Thorne, I mean. I didn't mean any harm sir, I was running. From the police."  
  
"I see." He lifted an eyebrow at her nickname and she saw a bit of a smile flit across his face as he took in her metal-studded clothes. "And why were you doing that?"  
  
"I broke in to sleep somewhere, but it was condemned and I didn't know, I thought it was just abandoned. The police found me there with some others, and they were going to arrest us, cause they thought have were the same ones they'd kicked out before and told not to come back. I took off running because I didn't want them to take me back home."  
  
Looking around the room, she saw that it was furnished in an opulent, but extremely strange way. She looked at him more closely, and realized he was wearing some of the strangest clothes she'd ever seen, like great long robes that fell to the floor and made him look just about as damn scary as you could wish to see. His face was still impassive, with this look of sardonic curiosity that gave her the shivers all over again.  
  
"And how did you happen to find this place? How did you get in?" he asked, his voice neutral, but curious.  
  
"I climbed over your wall. I wouldn't have, sir, except that your neighbours have, umm, very persuasive guard dogs."  
  
"Really, you just came to the edge of the property, climbed over the wall, and _jumped?"  
_  
"Why are you looking at me like that? It wasn't a hard wall to climb, except for the glass...look, if you don't believe me, look at my hand - I cut it coming over." She tried to gesture with her bound hand, to indicate the left one.  
  
Still in the same polite, interrogative tone, he asked "No trouble at all? You didn't get lost or...frightened on your way in?" She could tell how closely he was watching her.  
  
"I don't follow you, sir. It was very dark, yes, and it was hard to find my way, but I didn't see anything that frightened me, until I was stopped."  
  
He regarded her, for the first time, with something other than that strange detachment. It looked almost like surprise, though she couldn't figure out what was so surprising. Did he have wild animals in his yard, is that what would have frightened her?  
  
"And are you absolutely _certain_ that nobody told you to come here? Perhaps made it worth your while to do it, given you a little something to come through here and nose around, see what you could find out?"  
  
_Oh Christ, he's crazy...he's crazy AND he thinks I'm lying to him..._she thought frantically. She shook her head vigorously. "No, no, sir, I don't know who you are...nobody paid me off to come here."  
  
He shrugged his shoulders noncommittally, facing away from her. "Well, if you say so. I believe you."  
  
He rounded suddenly on her, and made a quick gesture made with a long thin something he held in his hand. _"Liberarus"_ he said, and the ropes that had held her wrists and ankles fell to the floor and vanished. Her mouth dropped open, but she could think of nothing to say.  
  
He held out a hand to her, and helped her get to her feet.  
  
"What did you just _do?"_ she asked him in a whisper. "Who the hell are you?" How had he done that? Maybe there was a reason someone would want to hire homeless kids to spy on him, he didn't seem so crazy now.  
  
"My name," said the stranger, "is Lucius Malfoy. You'd best get used to it, Bella Thorne, because it seems to me you come to the right place. Didn't you have any idea?"  
  
"Idea of what?"  
  
"You're a witch, young lady, if I'm not very much mistaken. Had it never occurred to you?"  
  
"Well, no, can't say that it did..." _why the hell would it?  
_  
"How old are you?"  
  
"Fourteen."  
  
He shook his head regretfully. "And you never received any...odd letters, starting a few years back?"  
  
"No, I don't think so..."  
  
"Oh, if you had, believe me you'd know," he said dryly. "And would you mind if I asked who your parents are?"  
  
"My real parents, you mean?"  
  
"How many do you have?" he asked her, with a raised eyebrow.  
  
She blushed. "No, I mean, the people I lived with are my foster parents. I have no idea who my real ones are, Never heard anything about them. My foster parents' name is Torrington."  
  
"Where did you get your name, then?"  
  
"Bracelet I was wearing when I turned up. It said 'Bella Thorne' on it. I suppose they put it together. Beats being named by a stranger at a charity hospital. But what does that have to do with anything?"  
  
"I brought you in because you have a familiar face. I had a sneaking suspicion, just a small one. It's larger now, and more than a suspicion. You remind me of someone very much. It's a family resemblance..."  
  
"You mean my parents? Did you know them? How?" All the while thinking, _This cannot possibly be happening. Did I get knocked out in the fall? What the hell is going on?  
_  
"Perhaps I do mean your parents. So you don't know anything about them?"  
  
"They aren't even on my birth certificate. I didn't think anyone knew, I always thought I was one of those babies they find in dustbins, and I was just lucky enough to get out before I froze or suffocated."  
  
He gave a small, disdainful laugh. "You're a long way from that now, Bella, whatever you may think. Here," and he made a sweeping gesture at the chairs before the fireplace. "Take a seat. I want to talk with you."  
  
She followed him to the big armchairs, and took a seat in one. With a shock, she noticed that her clothes weren't wet any longer. Feeling her sleeve, she looked over at him. "Did you do this," she said, indicating her clothes.  
  
He nodded. "Only a spell. A simple one at that." He saw her eyes widen involuntarily at the word 'spell'. "You'll get used to it soon, don't worry. There is a lot I want to tell you."  
  
"Feel free to start talking, you know, whenever you're ready." It was a nervous habit of Bella's to get cheeky when frightened.  
  
"Quite a mouth on you, Bella. Patience.  
  
"As I said, you're a witch. So were your mother and father. You should be proud; they were some of the best in their...field. You've got the potential to be as good as them, and better.  
  
"Unfortunately, your schooling should have started three years ago. Don't worry; these are all details, to be worked out in their own time."  
  
"But wait," she said with an edge of wonder to her voice, "Schooling? Where in hell do they teach..." The cheek had left her, replaced by what might have even been respect, something she had not felt towards many people in her life. There was gratitude, too, and there was also still fear, of this strange man who was telling her all these things she had never even imagined.  
  
"Hogwarts, my dear, a fine place, though it has its share of flaws and follies." Then he added, as if to himself, "But you can't start now, it's the middle of the term...and of course you'll have to be caught up. You couldn't start as a first-year now, I wouldn't dream of putting you in classes with a bunch of eleven year olds." He shook his head, and added, "No, no, my conscience would never forgive me." He paused, looking off into space.  
  
"You can't be serious!"  
  
He fixed his eyes on her. "I am serious as the grave. There is a lot that you don't know about magic, but the first thing I ought to tell you is that an untrained witch is a very dangerous thing, especially if she hasn't a clue to her own powers. Yes, I do mean you." He said, in answer to her look. "She is a danger to herself and the people around her. I can tell you know what I mean."  
  
She _did_ know what he meant. As she let herself think on it for a moment, things were coming back to her, things that she had tried to make herself not think about. And the old feeling came back, a terrifying, exhilarating sensation of something inside her rising up in her defence, forcing her to protect herself without knowing what she did. "Oh God," was all she could manage.  
  
"I want you to think very hard about this. I did know your parents, and the longer I sit in a room with you the more I see them in you. I wouldn't like to think that I hadn't done the right thing by the only child of my old friends.  
  
"You are a welcome guest, and I hope you are willing to stay the night here. Tomorrow morning I will talk seriously with you about it. I have every intention of making sure you are taught everything you should know. Do you accept my offer?"  
  
She looked at him hard for a moment, and then she nodded. "You're very kind," she said, still not sure she could believe what was happening and then being afraid not to believe. "Er, can I ask you something?"  
  
"Of course," said Lucius Malfoy.  
  
"How did you know I was a witch?"  
  
"Well, for one thing, you were able to find the house."  
  
"Why does that –"  
  
"This place is covered in spells, spells to hide it and befuddle any Muggles who come near it, whether by accident or on purpose. You got through the barrage without that difficulty. I knew you were a witch, it just took a little extra questioning to find out that you, of all people, hadn't noticed it yet."  
  
"Muggle?"  
  
"Ordinary, non-magical human being," he said, as though this was a thing he thought very little of.  
  
"I see," she said. She unsuccessfully tried to stifle a yawn as she spoke.  
  
"You're tired," he observed coolly. "I can have a room prepared for you, and we'll talk more about this in the morning. I know my family will be thrilled to meet you." This last bit was spoken thoughtfully, his cultured drawl letting it out slowly, turning the words over as they passed his lips.  
  
She could not think of anything to say.  
  
"Lerrick will take you to your room, then. Lerrick!" he called in a louder, more commanding voice than he had yet used.  
  
_Lerrick? _she wondered.  
  
There was a _pop!_ and standing before them was the strangest looking little creature she had ever seen in her life. It wore what looked like an old handkerchief, and was a little over a foot high, with a large head and proportionately large, bat like ears. She could not have told if the little creature was male or female or if things like that were even meant to apply to it.  
  
"Master called?" It asked in the same squeaky little voice that had scared the daylights out of her when she had been running through the woods.  
  
"Lerrick, take this young lady to one of the spare bedrooms," he ordered curtly, "and make her comfortable." Then with a glance at Bella, he laughed, noticing the look of dumbfounded surprise on her face. "Lerrick is a house-elf, Bella," he said. "They're a sort of...servant that many wizards keep. Don't worry, he won't hurt you." There was a half-smile on his face that made her realise just how funny her reactions to magic had been so far. She laughed as well.  
  
"There's a million things I want to tell you, Mr. Malfoy, but they all come down to 'Thank You', so that's what I say. Thank you." She shook her head. "Of all the strange luck, to bring me here," said Bella in disbelief. "Dear God..."  
  
"You are welcome, my dear. But don't worry yourself about thanking me. Goodnight."  
  
She returned the pleasantry, and left the room, following the house-elf down the hall. 


	3. Reflection

**Chapter Three  
  
Reflection**  
  
When he returned to his bedroom, Lucius Malfoy felt a funny cocktail of thoughts racing around in his head. As he entered his wife looked up from the book she had been reading, and stood up.  
  
"Lucius, who was that," she asked him, "Why were you gone so long?" Then with a darker look, "Did they give you any trouble?"  
  
He raised his eyebrows and sighed. "That," he said, "was the only child of Ursula and Maxim Thorne." He had been waiting to see the look on Narcissa's face when he gave her the news. He was not disappointed.  
  
Her jaw dropped. "But...how in Merlin's name did she come here? Are you really sure it's her?"  
  
"You wouldn't say that if you'd seen her. You remember Ursula, the way she looked when she was still at school? Bella is her living image. I don't think the Ministry, or anyone, for that matter, ever even knew she existed, because she never received any letter from Hogwarts and she's as clueless as a Muggle about anything magical. The girl's been living with Muggles her whole life. Apparently she was out on the street, run away from home. She was raised as a Muggle orphan, said she was just found somewhere."  
  
"Did you tell her..."  
  
"I told her I'd known them. I didn't tell her who they were or why they died. Not that she would have understood, but she's sharp and she'll figure it out before long."  
  
"How did they manage it...no one ever knew they had a child, ever even suspected!"  
  
"I don't think they did. The Thornes were proud of their bloodlines; they wouldn't have wanted their child raised by Muggles. I think it just happened, before they could arrange anything. Maxim, I know wouldn't have liked the idea, would've fought it tooth and nail."  
  
She sat down at the edge of the bed, her pale eyes sweeping back and forth across the room. Her mind was racing, Lucius saw, and he saw shrewd contemplation moulded in her fine features. "Yes, they both would have."  
  
"She knows nothing about magic," said Lucius again, "and I've decided to fix that."  
  
She nodded vehemently. Aghast at the idea that one of their fellow purebloods had been raised by Muggles, she could not imagine not taking the situation in hand. "Imagine, Ursula and Maxim's daughter, sleeping on the street with Muggles! It would only be a matter of time until..."  
  
"Until someone points a knife at her and she curses him into jelly," he finishes dryly. "Or she manages to set a city block on fire in self defence. She may have already. I mentioned odd things happening to magical folk in the Muggle world. She turned white as paper. She knows what she can do. And," he added with a smile, "if she's anything like her parents, she'll want to learn how to use it."  
  
Narcissa Malfoy was looking at her husband with a most curious expression on her face.  
  
"Don't worry, darling," he said softly. "She'll learn. I can tell she's a smart girl."  
  
"Yes," said Narcissa, "She's going to have to be." 


	4. Gratitude

**Chapter Four  
  
Gratitude**  
  
When Bella awoke the next morning she felt a moment's reflexive terror at waking up in a strange bed. Then, after a moment, the fog of sleep lifted and she remembered all that had happened the night before, and she climbed out of bed.  
  
She looked around the room, and realized what an utterly alien place she was in. It was saturated with magic; she could feel it, almost smell it in the air. _Do they get used to it, living here, growing up here? I wonder if I'll get the chance to..._But that was wishful thinking, wasn't it? Try not to get the hopes up too high, luv, you don't know what you're hoping for yet. Rubbing her eyes, Bella rose and went to the mirror.  
  
She stared at her reflection for a moment, and then gave a violent start and whirled round. The picture behind her had moved. She stared hard at it and took a few steps closer.  
  
"Yes?" said its occupant, and elderly woman in blue robes. Bella jumped.  
  
"You can...you just...oh, hell," she said, sitting down on the edge of the bed and staring up at the portrait. "I- I'm sorry, ma'am, I've never been in a wizard's house before. I didn't know the, er, pictures could move."  
  
For a moment the woman looked shocked. Then, after peering hard at Bella for a moment, she laughed stiffly and said, "I'm afraid you've a lot to learn, child."  
  
Bella plunked her chin on her fist and said, "Boy, don't I know it," more to herself than to the woman in the portrait. She looked back at the mirror, and realized that for some reason, she looked very odd. She was wearing the nightgown that had been laid out for her when she had come up to the bedroom. It looked funny, but not bad, on her. She reflected that she hadn't worn anything like this pretty, sweeping garment in ages and ages.  
  
She looked down at her clothes. They were familiar, those ripped jeans and that ratty jacket, covered in improvised patches and pockets sewn in at every angle. That belt made of chains and bullet casing that she'd been adding to for the last year. She had worn it last night, and had thought herself another girl entirely.  
  
The girl that looked back at her from the mirror looked fourteen. But she herself had never realized she looked so young. This wasn't Spiky Thorne, who had walked fearlessly through dark streets bedecked in chains and spikes and tatters. In fact, she seemed a far cry in every way from the girl she'd been this time yesterday, too old for her years, who had run away from home and never looked back. She, who had slept in doorways and alleys and brandished a hunting knife at anyone who thought to give her trouble. But this girl's dark red hair looked like it had never been cut in anything even resembling a Mohawk, it fell, thick and curly, almost to her shoulders, only looking a little uneven. Her green eyes might never have been ringed in thick, black eyeliner. Quite normal looking, really. But that was the joke, wasn't it? She wasn't, couldn't be if she tried.  
  
Was this girl a witch, looking out of the mirror? She could be, just as well as anything. She wasn't going to have to live as a -what was it? - a Muggle anymore.  
  
Just then a sharp rap at the door surprised her. She went and opened it, and looked up and to both sides before she chanced to look down and notice the house elf.  
  
"Good morning," she said to it.  
  
It looked taken aback for a moment, then shook its head and said, "Master would like you to join him and Mistress at breakfast, Miss."  
  
"Sure," said Bella, and then added uncertainly, "Are you sure I'd look, um, appropriate, Lerrick?" She cast a glance back at the ripped pants and bullet belt.  
  
"Oh!" said the little creature, "the Mistress had clothes sent up for you this morning! They is in the wardrobe, if you please."  
  
"Wardrobe...oh, I see," she murmured. It was enormous, and she had first taken it for a part of the wall. "All right, I'll be out in a minute."  
  
It was a monster of a thing, all made out of heavy, dark, carven wood in all manner of weird and fantastic shapes. It had handles of what looked like pewter in the shape of an intricately twisted snake that wound its way over both doors. She put out her hand to take the handle, but drew it back very fast when the little serpent turned its head toward her and hissed, flicking its small forked tongue.  
  
"Be careful of that one," said the old woman in the portrait, in a sarcastic voice. Bella shot her a dirty look over her shoulder and then turned her attention back to the handle.  
  
She held out her hand to it again, this time out of reach of it's little teeth, and said, "Hey, who are you?" in a sort of undertone. It regarded her for a moment out of small, glittering eyes and flicked at her hand with its tongue again. Then it turned about and slithered onto one of the doors and the wardrobe swung open.  
  
"Humph," said the old woman. "Seems to like you."  
  
The wardrobe was nearly empty but for some clothes that had obviously just been hung there. They were floor-length robes that looked quite new, made of some soft fabric she couldn't name, and were in several colours. She held the green one up to herself in the mirror and looked at it. Liking what she saw, she started to change, casting an eye around the room, and at the woman in the portrait who had very decently turned her head away.  
  
Lerrick led her down many halls, and past many other portraits that moved. They looked at her as she walked past, and she looked back at them with great curiosity. The people in them looked like kin of Lucius Malfoy, many with the same pale hair and eyes, all with the proud, cunning look about them. Many looked haughty. She saw some that looked unfriendly, even cruel.  
  
Lerrick led her to two large, dark, wooden doors and said, "They's in there, Miss."  
  
"Thanks, Lerrick," she said, and took hold of the handle, looking first to see whether it was shaped like anything she'd have to make friends with before she could open the door. Seeing the it was only heavy and ornate, and apparently not alive, she grasped it and turned it, pushing the door in and entering the room.  
  
There had been a conversation of one kind or another going on a moment ago, but as soon as the door opened the room went silent.  
  
She saw Lucius Malfoy sitting at a large table with two other people, one a very pretty blonde woman, and the other a man in dark robes with very severely cut brown hair. For a moment, Bella just stood there, not sure what to do or say. But then Mr. Malfoy rose.  
  
"Aah, you're here. Let me introduce you," he said. He gestured towards the woman, and said, "This is my wife, Narcissa, and here," he waved his hand at the man, "is Gawain Firth, educational assessor for the Ministry of Magic." And turning to them with a significant look, he continued, "And this young lady is Bella Thorne, about whom you both know." Narcissa was looking at her in a half appraising, half inquisitive way, while Gawain Firth was staring in open curiosity.  
  
She smiled at them all, and sat down in the seat that her host had pointed out to her. His wife Narcissa also had that same look of pride and cunning that shone from the faces of the portraits. The both of them were beautiful and cold to look at, like people who held themselves high and had no qualms about showing it. Casting a look at Mr. Malfoy, she could tell even more certainly that he had his own reasons behind letting her stay here. No act of charity, this, done out of the goodness of his heart. _Then why?_ Did she really care? Bella was, as far as she was concerned, the one who counted in this game. They could keep up at whatever they were playing at, but she resolved then and there to come out on top.  
  
Narcissa Malfoy turned to her then with an ingratiating smile on her face. "My, my, he wasn't joking when he said you looked like your mother," she said, in a cool voice that was just above a whisper. "It's good to know you're back among your own again." Bella smiled at her again, and looked down, unsure of what to say.  
  
Gawain Firth spoke up then, looking shrewdly at her. "Have you really lived all your life with Muggles? Never known of the wizarding world before now?"  
  
"No, sir," she said. "Not a clue till last night."  
  
Lucius Malfoy cleared his throat. "Bella, er, Narcissa and I have discussed your situation with Mr. Firth. I am more than willing to arrange for your education, and he has agreed to give me permission to employ certain tutors to teach you here. Do you like the sound of that?"  
  
"Very much indeed, Mr Malfoy," said Bella, still confused about his motives and suspicious of his generosity. Still, she was very grateful to him, and said so. "I – I don't know how to thank you...it seems you're going to an awful lot of trouble for me."  
  
"Don't thank me, my girl," he said heartily. "Don't wear out your gratitude, or you might find it lacking when it's really needed."  
  
_Cryptic,_ thought Bella, and gave him a curious look. _Yes, let him know I know he knows something. Let him know that I want to know too._ She had a mounting desire to learn about her powers and her family, and felt that the mystery could be helped along a great deal if Lucius Malfoy thought she was worthy of knowing what the hell it was.  
  
She helped herself to a piece of toast.  
  
Gawain Firth was looking at her very closely again. "Miss Thorne, I don't want to make you nervous but I think it would be best to begin your schooling right away, as soon as tutors can be procured for you. I hate to be the one to inform you of it, but you're not nearly as advanced as I would like to see in a girl of fourteen."  
  
She looked at him, still smiling. "You did hear my story, right? I don't know anything about magic, anything at all. I had never met a wizard, that I knew of, at least, in my life until last night. I know I must be horribly behind, don't worry about saying it. I'll just have to figure out how to catch up," she said, brightly.  
  
He looked taken aback, as though he had never heard of anyone facing a program of remedial magic instruction state their case so happily. "It's good to know you're glad to learn, Miss Thorne. Would you like to know what I think would be the best course for you?"  
  
"Sure," she said.  
  
"The Malfoys will select private tutors to give you the material, but you will be given an education that conforms to the standard of Hogwarts, and you will be held to the same standard you would have been there. I have given them a list of the books that you'll need. Their school term at Hogwarts if half over, and I don't think you would be ready to start next September. I think that in a year and a half or so, you can take the placement exams and begin on a level with the sixth-years."  
  
Bella nodded. "I'm sure I can handle that, sir. I'm dying to start already." 


	5. Discovery

**Chapter Five**

**Discovery  
  
**It was nearly summer. The weather was mild and the world seemed beautiful. Looking out the window, she could see the great blue sky stretching on forever above the trees, which seemed to go on and on. She was sitting curled in a window seat with a book open on her lap that she was half- heartedly reading. She found it interesting, but it was just hard to concentrate with that great, bright outdoors to look at.  
  
_The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts,_ having failed to hold her attention, got closed and laid aside. _Just for now, I think, I'll have a break._  
  
Defence Against the Dark Arts had caught her fancy as soon as she'd picked up the books. It was interesting, and it seemed worth learning. But it was much more than the subject for its own sake that fascinated her. It was the Malfoys strange reaction to it.  
  
She had first noticed a barely perceptible scowl on the face of Lucius Malfoy when he had glanced over her shoulder and saw her engrossed in a chapter devoted to the Boy Who Lived, and the fall of He Who Must Not Be Named. After that, she made sure she kept her eyes shrewdly open and that the Malfoys thought that they were still half closed.  
  
She had learned about Hogwarts from _Hogwarts: A History_. She knew about its long and impressive history. And she'd learned about its four houses, Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff. She had also gathered that both the grown Malfoys, and their son Draco, and most of the family going back for generations, had been in Slytherin. Somehow this didn't surprise her. In fact, it rather fascinated her that they had apparently known her parents, and that they had been Slytherins, too. She wouldn't be Sorted until she actually got to Hogwarts, but she wondered a good deal what house she would be put in.  
  
She knew very well that she'd make a good Slytherin. She was ambitious, cunning, and a Pureblood's Pureblood as far as anyone told her. She had the potential to be very unscrupulous when it suited her needs, and so far, she was a very talented witch. Bella smiled wryly when she reflected that growing up in state care homes followed by a stint on the street was something that was probably better at cultivating Slytherin traits than these proud wizards would like to admit.  
  
The Hogwarts term was over, as near as she could guess. Narcissa Malfoy had left a little while ago, and though they hadn't spoken before she left Bella had an idea that she was going to meet her son at the train station. That meant Draco would be home later today. It also meant she could ask him about Hogwarts, because there were some things that the books had not explained, and they were things she wanted to know.  
  
Looking around, she could see the evidence of Slytherin pride that permeated the house. She had wondered before why the house was full of the serpent motif, beginning with the handle of that wardrobe, which did seem to like her. But she doubted that even a lot of school pride could leave this big a mark on a family, and reflected that this must have been a very strange place to be fourteen or fifteen years ago, when Lord Voldemort had been at his full power and held the wizarding world in terror.  
  
Very interesting indeed.  
  
The Malfoys did not hold He Who Must Not Be Named in the same light as, for example, the authors of the books she was reading, or the old articles she had read in the Daily Prophet about Voldemort's fall. She had read between the lines when she'd learned about Mr. Malfoy's position as a reformed Death Eater. In fact, they seemed to turn a very sympathetic ear to the occasional reports of wizards who had gotten in trouble by being too outspoken in their disparaging views about Muggle born wizards. Bella paid close attention to them when they got talking about this. They thought of the old wizarding families as a sort of royalty in the magical world, and believed they families should be the ones in charge and keeping the Muggle- borns in their place. Bella was learning why people had followed Voldemort.  
  
She heard a scrabbling sound in the hall and went out to see what it was. Looking out into the hall she saw two house elves directing a trunk that was floating several inches off the ground. Exiting the room, she headed down the hall in the direction they had come from.  
  
As she came to the top of the stairs she saw a boy of about her own age facing the opposite direction and standing with his hands in his pockets.  
  
"Hello," said Bella, coming down the stairs.  
  
He jumped, and spun around. Bella saw the fair, sharp face and pale eyes of Lucius Malfoy looking at her in surprise and intense curiosity. "Hello," he said. The he added, with an approving half smile, "You must be Bella."  
  
"The very same. But you can call me Spiky if you want." She grinned. "And you're Draco? I'm glad to meet you." Bella saw Narcissa Malfoy about to enter the room, and then thinking better of it, turning about and disappearing through the door. Bella noticed that she was smiling too. Draco hadn't seen her.  
  
"Spiky?" His smile had spread to his voice.  
  
She chuckled. "Nickname. I'll explain sometime. Say," she added, "Are there wizard punks?"  
  
He looked at her blankly. "No, I don't think so...not that I know of. Hey," he said, changing the subject, "let's got have something to drink."  
  
He called for Lerrick, and Lerrick appeared. Draco told him to bring them pumpkin juice and Lerrick scurried off. Bella followed Draco into the sitting room.  
  
They both flung themselves into the great soft armchairs and Bella stretched. Draco was eyeing her intently, and she could all but feel the question that was itching in his mind. Finally, he asked it. "So, where _are_ you from?"  
  
She smiled slowly. "Well, do you want the whole story, or just how I washed up on your father's doorstep?"  
  
"As much as you'll tell me," he said, and then, his smile broadening, he added, "And where did you get a name like Spiky?"  
  
"A friend gave it to me after I got a Mohawk," said Bella, and then in answer to his blank look, "You know, with the sides of the head shaved and a big spiked thing going up the middle?" She gestured accordingly, and saw him nod, looking bemused. "I started spiking my jacket too. I don't think Spiky would've stuck if it hadn't been such a rotten pun." She laughed.  
  
"As to how I got here, that's a longer story. I grew up in foster care, went through a couple different homes, and I hated my last foster family, so I ran away. That was last September. Me and the people I was with, we broke into this building one night, an old house not too far away. It was raining and we had gone in there to sleep, but the house was condemned, and we didn't know. The police came and were going to arrest us, and my friend Jack told me to run, because they'd take me home if they caught me. So I took off like a bat outta hell." She went on to tell him about how she had run from the police, threading through backyards and finally being caught by their house elf, and about the long interview with his father that had followed.  
  
"Wow," said Draco bluntly. "Dad never told me that. How come the Ministry never found you?"  
  
Bella sighed. "You know, everyone keeps asking me that and I probably have less idea than anybody. I mean, I don't know how the Ministry keeps track of its babies, but I bet it's a lot more efficient that what Muggles use, and it's pretty hard to avoid that. As far as I know I just slipped under the radar when my parents..." She shrugged. "They just..._missed_ me, it seems like. I have an ID bracelet from when I was found. Your dad says it's a replica of the kind the Ministry gives to wizard's kids, but not the real thing. It was sort of a forgery, I guess."  
  
"And you never knew you were a witch?" he asked, almost disbelievingly.  
  
"Nope."  
  
"So, what are you going to do? Are you going to go to Hogwarts?"  
  
"Yeah, eventually. You father's arranged for me to be brought up to snuff here, with private tutors. I've got a lot to learn in the mean time, but my teachers all say I'm a quick study so far." She shrugged again. "Your dad said something about starting me year after next, at sixth year level. I'd _better_ be good, otherwise I'm dead." She laughed a little ruefully.  
  
Draco took a sip of pumpkin juice and looked at her, once more seeming (albeit half grudgingly) impressed. He gave a low whistle. "That _is_ a lot. And you're taking all the same subjects as us?"  
  
"Yeah. Oh, I was going to ask you all about Hogwarts! It slipped my mind. You don't mind, do you? I know you just got out and everything, but I've really been dying to hear about it from someone who's actually there."  
  
"Oh, I don't mind, especially since you've never been there. Say, have you been Sorted yet?"  
  
"No. That won't happen to me until I actually get there."  
  
"Oh. I hope you make Slytherin." He chuckled. "It's the place to be." And Draco launched into a long description of what Hogwarts was like, complete with all its teachers and the students he knew. He told her all about the Triwizard Tournament and all the strange problems surrounding it, from accepting a fourth champion to the death of one of the others.  
  
"Someone died? Who? Did you know them?"  
  
"Oh, not well," said Draco dismissively. "But everyone was buzzing about it right before I left. I mean, it is pretty suspicious. Potter came back with a dead competitor, and," Draco leaned in closer, "you won't believe the crazy story he was telling. Nobody else does."  
  
"What story?"  
  
Draco smirked and said smoothly, "That You-Know-Who's back."  
  
It was a little while later that Bella was coming down from her bedroom, having left Draco to unpack his things, that Bella was reflecting on what he had said.  
  
Was it possible? Could it be that Voldemort had returned? And what would happen in the Malfoy house if he did? She knew about the Malfoy's prejudice against Muggle born wizards. She didn't know what to make of it herself, and didn't know any Muggle-borns to base an opinion on. But she was still careful not to disagree with them and not to offend them. She thought Lucius Malfoy would support the Dark Lord if he were to rise to power again, and she didn't know what she would do if it came down to a choice between her desire not to harm people and her loyalty to the Malfoys. The choice frightened her.  
  
It was thoughts like this that carried her down to the sitting room where she heard the animated voices of Mrs Malfoy and Draco, laughing and talking. She followed the sound and found them taking tea. Mrs Malfoy had a small box on her lap that seemed to be full of pictures. She was looking hard at one of them, apparently trying to see something in the background. But Draco saw Bella and called for her to come over.  
  
Mrs Malfoy looked up and, seeing Bella, she smiled. "Come sit down, I wanted to show you something. I've just found some old pictures, I was just showing Draco."  
  
"Pictures? Cool," said Bella with interest, looking at the stack of photos that Mrs Malfoy had just handed her. Then, noticing the three young women in the photograph on top, she let out a gasp. "Mrs Malfoy...is it?"  
  
"Yes," she said, smiling. She pointed to the young woman with Bella's face and her piles of auburn hair. "Your mother. I thought you'd like to see it."  
  
"And that's you", she said, pointing to the younger Mrs Malfoy. "But who's this?" She pointed to the third woman, on the right. She was tall and pretty, with a great curtain of thick, shining dark hair that she was constantly throwing back over her shoulders, and looking sharply out of the picture with heavy lidded dark eyes.  
  
"Ah", said Mrs Malfoy, with a mixture of sadness and discomfiture in her voice. She glanced at Bella. "That's my sister, Bellatrix. You were named after her." She looked as though she had been going to say more but then though better of it.  
  
Sensing this, Bella looked hard at her. She could feel that Mrs Malfoy was holding something back, that there was something she didn't want to tell her...no, not quite. She thought she wasn't ready. "Mrs Malfoy, what is it? I didn't know you had a sister."  
  
She sighed. "Bella, I didn't know how to tell you this. I thought you'd have time to form your own opinions, and I'd be able to tell you then..." She stopped for a minute. "No, I was kidding myself thinking you wouldn't guess before long."  
  
Bella bit her lip. She shifted the photograph, and looked briefly at the one underneath it. It was Lucius Malfoy and a few other men, who shared his proud bearing and slightly cold demeanour. "That I wouldn't guess what?" she asked softly, but as she spoke the words she had already guessed.  
  
She put a hand over her mouth. "They were..." "Death Eaters," finished Mrs Malfoy. For a moment she didn't meet her eyes.  
  
Draco broke the silence, saying quietly, "I thought you knew they were." He was no doubt thinking of the less than discreet approval of the Dark Lord that he had expressed over pumpkin juice that very afternoon.  
  
A number of things went through Bella's head just then. Now that she thought of it, of course it made sense. Lucius Malfoy didn't have that attitude for nothing. He had been a Death Eater before the Dark Lord's fall.  
  
"Were they both?"  
  
Mrs Malfoy nodded. "My sister," she said in a low voice, "is in Azkaban Prison right now, sentenced to life. There were a few others from my family who served the Dark Lord, too, though I think they are all dead by now."  
  
It was unsettling to see how quickly the atmosphere in the room had changed from one of animated conversation to funereal lull. Bella wished she could take the solemn look off of both their faces, but she felt it was beyond her power. "I'm sorry, Mrs Malfoy,"said Bella.  
  
She shook her head, the colour coming back to her cheeks. "Don't be sorry for things you cannot change. But now that you know that our parents served the Dark Lord..."  
  
"How do I feel?" finished Bella. To tell the truth she wasn't sure how she felt. She had never known her parents and would have slapped her own face if she hadn't asked herself questions like this before. She knew they were questionable characters. But this, this was a confirmation, not that she was the product of some ill advised tryst between a pimp and a drug addict, or one of the other likely stories that had flitted through her head in erstwhile moments in the Muggle foster homes. No, nothing like that. Her parents had been intelligent, educated people who had dedicated themselves to the service of someone known far and wide as the most evil Dark wizard who ever drew breath. "I suppose I feel all right...I don't know what else to say, to tell you the truth. I had guessed this, sort of. It's the reason why they died, isn't it? But I still...I'm sure it was what they would have done."  
  
"They were proud to do it, Bella."  
  
Bella nodded, looking down at the picture. _Death Eaters_, she thought, as her mother looked back at her. _My parents were Death Eaters_.


	6. The Letter

**Chapter Six  
  
The Letter  
**  
It was a freezing bitter, brutal, beautiful winter day. Bella was cold even in all of the thick, warm wrappings she'd decked about her body. It was all she could do to keep her nose from freezing off her face and the shivers were starting to kick in. But that couldn't spoil her mood.  
  
The sky was arching above, pale blue and mocking the earth with chilling winds. There was snow on the ground from the night before, and she kicked her cold feet gleefully in it as she walked. She hadn't known it was possible to be this happy about an exam announcement. Even its promised difficulty made her grin. It was a confirmation, a triumph.  
  
The letter had come earlier that day, soaring in on the foot of a big brown owl. It was from Gawain Firth at the Ministry, telling her (five months in advance, no less) that she had tested at a sufficient skill level to take the O.W.L.s at the end of this school term, and that she was now on a level with other wizards her age. It was hard to pin down exactly why it elated her so. Perhaps it was simply the pride that she would have felt in the Muggle world at receiving a good grade on a test or being accepted to a prestigious university. But it was more than academic pride. Bella had found, since her rude awakening to the wizarding world almost two years ago, that there were people here who believed in her abilities. She felt she had somehow beaten out the odds. In the Muggle world, she had had nothing and been nothing, a statistic, and a tragedy case. School had had no meaning to her because she knew that she meant nothing to it. She had grown up surrounded by low expectations, and had not felt it worth her while to prove them wrong.  
  
But now, she was part of this other world, a world that she could learn from, a world that was glad to have her back. The Malfoys were as good as a family now, Death Eaters or no. The old Spiky would never have believed she could be this happy. She had risen, or at least that was the best word she could think of for it, out of the endless quicksand tar pit death trap she had believed herself born into. She was Horatio Alger turning cups into mice and flipping the middle finger in a shower of wand sparks at anyone and everyone who had ever expected her to drop out of school, get hooked on heroin, and wind up dead in an alley before her twenty-first birthday. Bella grinned. Gonna make it after all, old girl, she thought to herself.  
  
She had thought of taking a piece of parchment and writing her manifesto, a statement of her triumph over whatever it was she had beaten. It was true that she wasn't quite sure what it was, but that didn't seem to matter just now. What mattered was that she had passed the first test. She had mastered five years of material in just two years of bending her nose to the grindstone and working her arse off, and she was damn proud of herself. Maybe it was just the perverse desire to spite the world she'd grown up in. But whatever it was, the difficulty of the tasks ahead of her gave her chills of excitement. She liked a challenge, after all.  
  
Bella picked up a handful of snow and rolled it into a snowball. She took pains to roll it well, making it as near a perfect sphere as she could. Regarding the snowball for a moment, she tossed it up and caught it gently, before whipping it as hard as she could at the nearest tree trunk. She laughed aloud at the silly thing she'd just done. _You_, thought Bella, _are much too cocky for your own good._ Was it such a bad thing? 


	7. A Secret Kept no Longer

**Chapter Seven  
  
A Secret Kept No Longer**  
  
It was Bella's last night with the Malfoys. She couldn't sleep. She would be going to Hogwarts tomorrow, and it was with a mixture of regret and anticipation that she faced the prospect of spending the summer there taking placement tests. She tossed and turned, and kept kicking the covers off because she was too hot and then dragging them back on again when she got too cold.  
  
At last, tired of staring at her eyelids, Bella sat up and swung her legs out of bed. All sorts of magical knowledge was bouncing around inside her skull and she couldn't think of a single thing to just knock her out and keep her that way for another few hours. And so, she made up her mind to go down and try and find one of the house-elves and ask for a glass of milk.  
  
She still felt funny about just calling for them, and had never been entirely comfortable ordering them around. She had, after all, grown up in the Muggle world and was not used to being waited on hand and foot by weird little beings that seemed like there was nothing in the world they would rather be doing. Anyway, she didn't want to wake anyone up. Bella went walking.  
  
When she first heard the noise she thought it was her imagination. She walked on, more quietly, and listening harder. Before too long, she heard it again. It was most definitely not her imagination. Someone was crying.  
  
Following the sound she padded silently along, through the surreal patches of moonlight cast down by the moon outside. It seemed for a moment that she was dreaming, that she had had this dream before, but that feeling quickly dissolved when she realized that the sound was coming from inside the Malfoys' bedroom. Coming to the large door, she saw that it was open a crack. When she put her eye close to it, she was incredibly surprised to see the stately form of Narcissa Malfoy, her face in her hands, sobbing.  
  
For a moment, Bella did nothing. She didn't know what to think. A multitude of reasons why she might be sitting up in the dead of night, crying and alone, flashed through her mind, and none of them seemed to fit, to be significant enough to explain the great hiccupping sobs that wracked her proud shoulders.  
  
Bella could not have turned away then and in the end, she did what she knew she would have done all along. She knocked on the door. "Mrs. Malfoy?" she said softly, pushing the door open farther, "Are you okay?"  
  
She saw her stiffen and look around. Then upon seeing her dishevelled visitor, she sighed. "Bella, come here." Her voice was thick with tears.  
  
"What – what happened? What's wrong?" Bella was frightened to see her face pinched and working with emotion, with a sort of wild fear in her eyes.  
  
She sighed, and when she spoke it was very slowly, like someone trying to figure out some kind of complicated puzzle. "Lucius is in prison."  
  
"Prison!" exclaimed Bella, her eyes widening, "But how..."  
  
"They were caught" she spat out, looking at the floor. "In the Ministry...and now they know..."  
  
"Who? What do they know?"  
  
Mrs. Malfoy's face twisted in a bitter grimace. "That the Dark Lord has returned."  
  
Bella's stomach flip-flopped. What could this mean? She herself was not too keen to see Voldemort in power, but what would happen to the family if Mr. Malfoy were in Azkaban?  
  
But now Mrs. Malfoy was speaking very quickly. "Of course, they won't be able to hold them. The dementors won't be around long. But still, he'll be a wanted man and –and –and" She choked back a sob and fell silent.  
  
But Bella could tell what she feared now. "And you're afraid Draco will want to join him?"  
  
Mrs. Malfoy looked at Bella in shock as if she had just spoken some great and ancient secret aloud. Bella had noticed long ago that Narcissa held a lot of affection for her only son. But after a moment, she nodded, and then said mournfully, "It's a war, Bella. Y-you can't understand it properly, you're too young. You don't know what it was like last time, after _he_ lost his power. And now the war is starting again! They're all so sure we'll win this time, but they're all naive, so naïve!" She choked back a sob. "They're all so sure, but if we don't..." she moaned and put her face in her hands.  
  
Bella put an arm around Mrs. Malfoy's shoulders. "Mrs Malfoy, there, please don't cry..." She was astounded to see her like this. And she didn't think she'd live to see another human being call a pack of Death Eaters naïve.  
  
"And now _you're_ in danger from it too...Bella, I'm so sorry, that it's happened this way."  
  
"Please don't be sorry, it isn't your fault. Take a few breaths," said Bella, and was relieved when Mrs. Malfoy began to follow her advice. She squeezed her hand and felt an encouraging pressure in return.  
  
They were both silent for many minutes. The big old house was silent around them. The only sound was a large clock ticking somewhere, several rooms away.  
  
When Mrs Malfoy finally spoke, her voice did not sound like itself. "Bella?" she said quietly.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
She paused, and then continued. "Would you like to know why the Ministry never knew about you? Why no one ever traced you after your mother died?" She took a deep breath. "It wasn't an accident."  
  
For a moment Bella thought she hadn't heard correctly. "Y-yes, I would," she said, her voice sounding very small all of a sudden.  
  
"It was your mother's idea," said Mrs Malfoy. She was silent for a long moment, so long that Bella thought she might not speak again, but at last she went on. "After your father was killed, your mother disappeared for a while. I don't know how long, it was more than a year. I never knew where she'd been, but one day, out of the clear blue sky, she contacted me. She wanted to meet me in secret. When I went to see her, she had you." She smiled at Bella then. "You were a lovely child, Bella. But Ursula...she was at her wits end. She was on the run by then. The Ministry knew who she was and the Aurors were tracking her down. All she wanted by then was to keep you safe. She wanted you to be raised safely and in secret. I remember she said she didn't want you raised to hate your parents names, and your own." She paused again, looking into Bella's widening eyes.  
  
"I was her secret keeper."  
  
"Oh!" Bella couldn't speak for a moment. "How in the world...? So that was how she...how _you_ did it?" Bella felt what might have been a lump in her throat.  
  
Mrs Malfoy nodded. "And I kept you secret all this time. I thought she had some idea of where to put you, that she knew a family that could raise you. I don't know. I thought...that she'd arranged it with the wizard who helped us. I never knew him...It wasn't long after that that I heard she'd died fighting the Aurors when they tried to overtake her." She swallowed hard. "I didn't know what had become of you, and I always thought she'd found a place for you. No one except the two of us ever knew you existed. Can you imagine what it was like when Lucius told me you were _here_, under this roof? That you had practically wandered up to the door?"  
  
Bella was silent for a long time. This was a lot to take in. Her mind had been whirring with activity a moment ago, but now there were tears in her eyes. So this was the secret. This was how the Ministry had looked right over her head. She could have passed for any wizard baby, or any Muggle child with a strange bracelet. When she spoke there was a tremor in her voice. "Mrs Malfoy?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Thank you," she said. Mrs Malfoy pressed her hand, and Bella went on, "No, for everything, everything you've done for me...I don't know what would have happened, but I owe you so much..."  
  
"Bella, there's only one thing you owe me, and that's a promise. Will you make me a promise?"  
  
Bella nodded, looking up at her. "Yes," she said firmly.  
  
Mrs Malfoy looked on the verge of tears again. Her voice broke when she spoke. "Promise me that you'll use your life well. That you won't let anyone lie to you, the way they lie to everyone. That you won't join a doomed army and die before you've gotten a chance to live." Fixing Bella full in the gaze of her piercing blue eyes, she went on, biting back sobs as she said, "Nothing you could ever believe in is worth your life, and anyone who will tell you otherwise is either lying or a fool."  
  
For a long time Bella looked at her. And then, with all her conviction behind her, she answered, "I promise."  
  
Mrs Malfoy hugged her close and dropped a kiss on the top of Bella's head. The two of them sat there, sunk in the edge of the large soft bed. It was a long time before either of them moved again. 


	8. The Absent Professor

**Chapter Eight  
  
The Absent Professor**  
  
It was a late morning in early summer, and there was scent of flowers and plants and earth on the air as Bella stuck her head out the window and looked around. Hogwarts was the strangest place she had ever been in, and she had decided the moment she saw it that she was going to explore it top to bottom to the best of her ability in the months that followed. The sun was shining on the lake and the forest in the distance looked dark, threatening, and irresistible. Danger, in its persuasive and insistent voice, whispered to her out of the corner of her thoughts, but she hushed it. There were other things to do today, and she was going to play this smart. Bella knew better than to get expelled right after she got there. And Professor McGonagall was expecting her in less than an hour to begin her placement testing, and she knew better than to screw that up, too.  
  
Bella dressed slowly, taking time to savour her dreamy laziness. The dormitories were empty except for her, and she found something oddly appealing about the long rooms full of beds, waiting for people to come and sleep in them. The room looked expectant. A few years ago she would have laughed at that thought, but now, she knew better than to take anything at face value. Who the hell knew, after all, if the room was expectant? Maybe it was conscious after all, and got bored over the summer with no one within it to keep it entertained. She stood up finally, pulled back her hair in a loose coil and set off to find Professor McGonagall.  
  
It had been nearly a week since she came here. Mrs Malfoy had seen her off, returned to composure. She had met Draco as he left the Hogwarts Express, and waved goodbye to the two of them. She worried for them, hoping Draco wouldn't join the Death Eaters and get himself killed. She worried about what Mrs Malfoy would do if he did. She had given a good deal of thought to what Mrs Malfoy had said to her, and had come to a few of her own conclusions. But she still felt a kind of sick, helpless fear when she thought of the expression on the older woman's face, lips drawn down to a thin hard line, eyes flashing with bitterness. She had believed in something once, and would never let herself make that mistake again.  
  
It was bitterness like that which made Bella cringe. It was the rigid, self contained terror of someone who had lost faith in any cause they had ever believed in, who thought that those who still had any were putting their own heads in the noose. And it was coupled with Mrs Malfoy's fear for her family, magnified by her affection for her son. How horrible it must be for her, who has given up on pride, on honour, on loyalty to the Dark Lord, to see those same deadly convictions framed in Draco's face.  
  
Bella pushed these thoughts back in her mind. I'm here now, and worrying never helped anyone, she thought furiously. She walked a little faster. She wished she could do something. She had never liked inaction. The Sorting Hat had told her as much. It was eerie how it had seen into her mind, had picked out her intelligence, her cunning, the unscrupulous edge to her every thought, and quietly said to her, "Slytherin", but how through all that it had apparently seen the impatient red thread in the green tapestry. It had paused. She knew what it had seen, her forward manner, her innate tendency to stick her neck out.  
  
Bella reached the doorway to McGonagall's classroom, and stopped. She knocked politely and responded to the summons from within.  
  
"Hello, Miss Thorne. Are you ready to begin?"  
  
She was.  
  
Bella was relieved, but not surprised, to learn that she had done better than well on her Transfiguration test. And as time went on, Bella grew more and more confident in her talent as a witch. Though she wouldn't have admitted it to anyone, Bella had been plagued by a gnawing and unshakeable doubt ever since she had known she was coming here, the feeling that no matter how much she studied and how hard she worked, and no matter how good she was she would still find a way to sink herself at Hogwarts. But as the testing went on, she was relieved to find this feeling slipping away, until, one day in early August she woke up and realised it was quite gone.  
  
By that time she had finished all but one of her placement tests, which had all yielded high marks for the intelligence and innate skill that Bella couldn't seem to believe she possessed until she had a second opinion. And by now she had a third, a fourth, and a few more to boot.  
  
But there was still one to worry about, one last hoop to jump through, and it was a hoop that she couldn't jump through until someone was there to hold it up for her. Professor Snape, the potions master and head of Slytherin house, was away. To hear Dumbledore tell it it sounded as though he was off on a well-deserved vacation, and it was not until she had relayed this news to Draco by letter and he had told her a thing or two about Professor Snape that she began to think this was strange. Draco had written that he couldn't imagine Snape on vacation, and he also wondered where he was.  
  
Bella had not given much thought to Professor Snape, though, after learning that he was away, until the days turned into weeks and the school year drew closer. One day, Dumbledore sent for her, and on the walk to his office she felt, for a bit, the old sinking dread that she'd thought, at long last, was gone for good.  
  
But it turned out that she needn't have worried. What the meeting focused on mainly was the unfortunate absence of the Potions Master, and how, in his absence, it would be hard for him to give her the placement test. "But," Dumbledore had said, "not to worry. I can do it in his stead and, I hope, be every bit as hard and strict and pernickety as he is." He had said it with a twinkle in his eye and a shade of a mocking smile about his lips, but Bella, who knew the professor's reputation, felt a twinge at his words.  
  
And while the test went well, and Bella was able to concoct both the obscure form of Heavy Sleeping Powder, and its accompanying Awakening Draught (for the powder itself was so powerful that that sleeper would not be able to awaken on their own, and the draught had to be administered by someone else), and Bella's anxiety was finally banished for the summer, her curiosity was slowly getting the better of her. She had begun to draw wild and fanciful conclusions as to the missing teacher's whereabouts. She remembered hearing Mr. Malfoy talk about him with Draco, over the previous summer. He knew him, apparently, and asked Draco to give him his regards upon returning to school. And Bella thought this powerfully strange, though for the life of her she couldn't say why. 


	9. Newcomers

Chapter Nine  
  
Newcomers  
  
"Bella! You ready?" said a voice in her ear that of Vincent Crabbe, jarring her a little and making her smear the ink on her parchment, "We've got class, you know. You're not on your own anymore."  
  
"Oh, yeah," said Bella, whose attention had been absorbed, not by homework but by the parchment on which she had been absently trying to sketch her roommate, Emma Woodruff, from across the table. It wasn't a bad one, she thought, as she stuck it in between the pages of a book and stuffed the lot of it into her bag. "Come on, Emma. First day, we shouldn't be late."  
  
The other girl roused herself from her pose and cricked her neck. "What do we have now?" she asked.  
  
Bella fished around in her bag and pulled out her schedule. She cocked an eyebrow. "Defence Against the Dark Arts," she said, beginning to walk with the two of them. "With Carmichael. Ever hear of him?"  
  
"No," said Crabbe and Emma in turn.  
  
Bella shrugged. "Lets get a move on, then. I want a look at him before all the rest of Slytherin and..." she looked back down at the schedule and looked back up with a little smile, "Oh, and Gryffindor, comes crowding round."  
  
They met Draco on their way to class, but Bella could tell by the way he dragged his feet that he was not so anxious to get there as the rest of them. She gave him a curious look, but he just shook his head and kept walking.  
  
Rounding the corner, they saw a good sized group of students already gathered at the door of the classroom, but it seemed to be locked and their new teacher was nowhere in sight. They waited, but before long the whole hall was crowded, and there had been no point to getting there early. Bella shrugged. "At least we'll get good seats."  
  
With all the noise and bustle of the other students around them it took Bella a moment to hear the raised voice of- presumably- their new teacher, saying, "Settle down now, settle down! There, now, at least let me at the door."  
  
And Bella saw the crowd parting for a tall and exceedingly thin and spindly man with a wrinkled, sun-browned face and a shock of short, thick white hair. She saw him very close, in fact, as she, Emma, and Draco were right next to the classroom door by then. He cast a look at them that lingered, in Bella's opinion, a little longer than on the other students, and not in a way that she liked. He gave a little cough and pulled out the keys, turning away from them. Once again she looked at Draco, but now his eyes had narrowed and his face was getting that challenging, cocksure look that came to him so naturally. But Bella thought with a pang that it wouldn't carry the same weight with anyone now that his father was in prison. She swallowed hard, and followed the teacher through the now open classroom doors.  
  
Professor Carmichael stood stiffly in front of his desk and watched as the class took their seats, and waited silently as they settled down. He did not speak a word until the classroom had fallen into a dead and expectant silence, and every eye was fixed on him. He seemed impatient, as though he had very little time to say his piece but wanted to make sure they were all listening.  
  
"Good afternoon, class," he said in a cheerful but still flat-sounding voice. "My name is Professor Baltus Carmichael. Now, I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage. You know my name, but I know none of yours. But," and as he said it his voice slowed and his eyes swept the room, once again lighting on Bella and her companions for a little longer than everyone else, "the funny thing about teaching is that one gets to see the older generation reflected in the younger. You," and he pointed to a boy with brilliant red hair who was sitting a few desks away from Bella, "What's your name?"  
  
"Weasly, sir, Ron Weasly," he said, sounding surprised.  
  
"I thought so," said Professor Carmichael. "Well, enough of that." He coughed again, more officiously this time, like someone starting a speech. "I am your new Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher. I know you've heard five others before me say that, and I know what became of all of them. I, however, am not one to be frightened away by a dangerous job, and it seems that after a long time, you children will have a competent teacher at the front of this classroom, one who will prepare you for those dangers awaiting you out there, in the world beyond the walls of Hogwarts.  
  
"He Who Must Not Be Named has returned." He paused for a moment, as if to let this sink in as the class shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Bella looked around. Ron Weasly, the red haired one, was looking intently at Carmichael. He was sitting between a girl with thick, bushy brown hair, and another boy, who Bella recognized in an instant when he too looked around the class, and she saw his hair shift away from the pale scar on his forehead. He turned back to the front of the class, his face grim. Bella felt her eyes widen in spite of herself. She heard Draco give a little snort beside her, but she didn't heed him. So that was Harry Potter, she thought. The Boy Who Lived. She turned her eyes back to Professor Carmichael as he went on.  
  
"The darkest wizard of our time, and perhaps of all times, and he is threatening us, to the last one. I know, also, that You Know Who had his sympathizers. There were those, and still are those, who believe he is in the right, that even his most depraved and horrible means are justified to achieve his ends. They are misguided, but this is no reason for sympathy. Many of You Know Who's followers are nearly as bad as he is. And, though I am not trying to frighten you, it is from them that the worst danger comes. Do not forget this in years to come! The faces you see around you every day may hide terrible secrets, and those same faces may hide beneath the masks of Death Eaters and swear allegiance to He Who Must Not Be Named. I do not say this because I want you to distrust one another, but to make you think carefully about whom you trust." Once again he looked around the classroom. "In this class we will study, in some depth, the methods employed by You Know Who to gain followers. We will discuss at length the methods that we may employ to resist them, and to recognise them. I understand that, two years ago, you were given some in-class demonstrations of the Imperius Curse?"  
  
The room was filled with murmurs of assent. Carmichael nodded. "I gather it was actually tested on certain students. Give me a show of hands, how many of you were able to resist it, if only for a while?"  
  
A few hands went up, belonging to both Slytherin and Gryffindor students. Carmichael took this in and continued. "Very good, very good. Now, were there any able to throw it off completely?" One hand remained in the air. Bella saw that it was Potter's, and felt decidedly impressed. She had never had the chance to resist an Imperius Curse, but she could tell it was a rare achievement. "Yes, I heard of your accomplishment. Mr. Potter, am I correct?"  
  
"Yes, sir," he said quietly. Nodding again, Carmichael pressed on.  
  
"That is a very great accomplishment, Mr. Potter, if you don't mind me saying so."  
  
Here Draco leaned over and whispered to her, "You know he never does." But Bella could tell, even from Potter's slouched shoulders and the back of his bowed head that he did mind, and rather a lot. But he kept silent, and Carmichael went on, oblivious.  
  
"It saddens, but does not surprise me that there is only one person in this classroom who has the strength of will to throw off the Imperius Curse. But it is this very strength of will and mind that I hope to cultivate in you all during the next year.  
  
"Between the Imperius Curse and many other methods of coercion, blackmail, and threats, You Know Who gains followers and spies with great speed. You will learn to resist these things. The Dark Followers will try to take control of you, lie to you, and ensnare you, even to the point of penetrating your very mind. They will make you betray yourself and the ones you love, even if you think you are acting to protect them. These are dangerous times, and we must remain on our guard,  
  
"And that is, in the end, what I am here to teach you. You must take no chances. Those who have joined willingly and those who have been forced to serve the dark forces are one and the same when you are fighting against them. Perhaps you didn't need to be told that. Perhaps you did. But you must keep it in mind both in the classroom and out of it, because I am afraid that no amount of simple knowledge will defend an unwary wizard against an attack from You Know Who.  
  
"Now, I feel that you have been adequately prepared. Let's move on to the first lesson, shall we?"  
  
Bella looked around at Draco. He was pale and silent, and when he met Bella's eyes his gaze was icy and desperate. He looked like an animal in a trap. But he must have known Bella would see that look. Bella could tell he was in hell, but all of a sudden it hit her that he didn't care she knew. At least he trusted her that much. Crabbe and Goyle were sitting close by, frowning to one another and muttering about the teacher in low tones. But they didn't share Draco's cold, silent fury.  
  
By the time the bell rang, Carmichael had been lecturing for the whole period about traps that Voldemort laid for the weak of mind to trick them into serving him, and of all the methods Professor Carmichael's seemed to be blackmail. He said that the best way to keep out of that trap was to walk the clean living straight and narrow and not do anything one could be blackmailed with in the first place. It had started sounding like a sermon towards the end. Bella hoped the whole year wouldn't sound like a wizarding tent revival.  
  
As they filed out of the classroom, Bella felt the teacher's eyes on her back again. He didn't like her, she knew. He didn't like any of them, and Bella knew why. He hadn't been talking about Ron Weasly when he mentioned all that stuff about seeing the older generation reflected in their children. No, Bella knew exactly what he meant, and she didn't like it at all.  
  
Their next class was Potions, and the topic of conversation had jumped from Carmichael to the unknown whereabouts of Professor Snape. Last night at the feast in the Great Hall, Bella had seen all the teachers she knew at the high table, and Professor Carmichael as well. But she had seen no one else she didn't recognise, and surely enough, Professor Snape hadn't been there. And now, as they walked down the cold stairway to the dungeons, Bella's curiosity had her almost at her wits end. When they reached the classroom, they found the door open, but the teacher's desk was untenanted.  
  
"Is he usually here at the beginning of class?" Bella asked Draco, who had taken a seat beside her.  
  
He shrugged. His humour had improved since they had left Carmichael's class. "Yeah, but he might be farther back in the dungeons, you know, bringing something out..."  
  
But Draco's thought was interrupted by the sound of the classroom door swinging shut. Everyone fell silent and looked up, and saw the last thing that any one of them, except perhaps Bella, had expected.  
  
At the front of the classroom stood a short, pretty, round-faced woman in dove-grey robes. She smiled invitingly at them all for a moment before she spoke.  
  
"Hello, everyone. I'm sure you can tell I'm not your regular teacher." There was a murmur of laughter through the classroom. "Professor Snape is away at the moment, and I am to be your substitute until he returns. My name is Professor Esmeralda Constantino."  
  
There were more murmurs from the class, but nobody said anything important aloud until Bella saw a hand go up at the front of the classroom. It was the bushy haired girl.  
  
"Please, Professor Constantino, where is Professor Snape?"'  
  
The teacher turned to her. "I'm afraid I can't tell you, Miss, er..."  
  
"Granger, ma'am, Hermione Granger."  
  
"Well, Miss Granger, I'm afraid I just don't know. Don't worry though, I'll take good care of the class in the mean time." She smiled broadly, with her dark eyes shining.  
  
"I wonder how long he'll be gone," whispered Bella to Goyle at the next table.  
  
"Dunno," he said, with a lift of his hands. "Snape's never done this before. Never even missed a day."  
  
"Well," said Professor Constantino, "I think we can move on from the introductions. According to the instructions Professor Snape sent, you are to begin the term with the Draught of Happiness. Can anyone tell me some of its properties, other than the obvious?"  
  
A few hands went up, and Bella's was one of them. She looked hard at Professor Constantino. This was going to be a very strange year. 


	10. The Old Enemy

**Chapter 10  
  
The Old Enemy  
**  
Walking into the Slytherin common room later that day, Bella could not help overhearing the conversations that buzzed around her. Every few yards another group of students was talking in curious tones about the new teachers. It seemed that Carmichael and Constantino were the man and woman of the hour.  
  
"Bella! Just wondering where you were," said Emma from across the room. "Get over here. I want to know what you think of the new teacher. Never had one quite like him, have we?" She addressed this to the group of girls sitting around her, and they all looked a little uncomfortable.  
  
Bella took a seat. "I think he's very...straight-laced, I suppose that's what you'd call it. Did you hear what he was saying about 'Clear, sober minds, and gravity of thought and decision' and how they never lead you wrong? To hear him tell it, you'd think You Know Who fished all his followers out of the bottom of a bottle of firewhiskey."  
  
The girls all laughed. One said, "I think he's a bleeding fool. "Clear judgment" my foot, what a load of rubbish. You don't just fall into serving You Know Who after a night out drinking. I've a good mind to tell him so."  
  
The circle murmured their assent, but Bella quietly chimed in, "Well, I wouldn't, you know."  
  
They fell silent. Most of them were friends of Draco's, and she had met them her first summer with the Malfoys. They knew her well enough to take her advice if she gave it as she did now. At last Emma said, a little playfully, "What do you mean? You were just saying at dinner how you want people to know what you think of them. You said that people ought to speak their minds."  
  
"Yes, and then you told me it sounded like I was defecting to Gryffindor. Yeah, I did say that. But you know what the difference is? Slytherins are smart about it, or at least we're supposed to be."  
  
There were a few laughs, but Emma pressed on. "How do you mean?"  
  
"Don't you get the feeling that Professor Carmichael doesn't like _us_ very much?" Her voice was low, but she saw the understanding cross each of their faces in turn. "Now, I don't know _why_ exactly, but anyone with half a skull can take a guess. I've got my ideas, and I bet you've got yours. But what good will it do to get his hackles up? Tell him off, and get detention. That's it. It won't do you a bit of good and you won't feel that much better after doing it. I say we have to just stick it out and live with him."  
  
"I guess so", said another girl, "I didn't think he liked the Slytherins much either. But I wonder why."  
  
"Nora, isn't it obvious?" said Emma.  
  
"Why?"  
  
Emma rolled her eyes a little and looked at Bella, who sighed and slouched down in her chair. "He thinks all of our house is closer to You Know Who than any of the others. You know, they say _he_ was a Slytherin too, in his day. I'll Bet Carmichael thinks there are plenty of us just waiting to grow up and become Death Eaters. Probably wouldn't be a bit surprised if we all went Muggle-hunting together over the holidays." Bella looked levelly around. "And what with, well, you know, the Death Eaters in prison..." She faltered and looked down.  
  
"Yeah", Emma said, and Nora nodded.  
  
"But he can't really think that!" said another of the Slytherin girls, whose name was Isis. "They wouldn't have let him teach here if he did, any more than Dumbledore would let in a teacher who hated Mudbloods."  
  
"Look, I don't mean he put it on his job application and wears a little badge that says "I Hate Slytherin". Of course not, and of course he wouldn't go around telling his opinions to Dumbledore. But one way or another, if you can look me in the eye and tell me you don't think he _feels_ that way, it'll be more than I expect of you." She shook her head. "I know that look. I used to see when I lived with the Muggles still, on people who thought I'd kill them for drug money if I ever got the chance. I saw the way he looked at Draco and me... Defence Against the Dark Arts is going to be torture this year. I can feel it already. He's going to work everyone hard, and he's going to be brutal to us."  
  
"I know, I already hate that class," said Nora.  
  
There was a general murmur of agreement, but it was broken by the arrival of Vincent Crabbe. "Bella, can I see what you've done for the Potions essay? I don't understand what she wants us to do."  
  
"Oh, you can see mine when I finish it," said Bella, looking at him upside down over the arm of the chair. "But all you have to do it talk about the way the ingredients interact, and how it's like other potions that affect the mood."  
  
He looked at her blankly, and then said, "I think I'll just wait for yours."  
  
Bella shrugged as he walked away. Then she turned back to the others and said, "And by the way, what do you think of _her?"_  
  
"Professor Constantino? She's really...nice, you know? It's weird having her teaching Potions, I mean, when we're all so used to Snape."  
  
Everyone agreed. "Guess you wouldn't know, Bella, but it's a hell of a change."  
  
"Oh I can imagine," she said dryly. Even though Bella had never even seen the Potions Master, His reputation preceded him quite a lot. She could tell his methods were a far cry from the warm and pleasant manner of Professor Constantino. She decided to fish for clues again, and asked, "Any idea where Snape's go to?"  
  
"Beats me," said Emma. "Nobody's been asking around much, so nobody knows. I mean, he's our Head of House, and even the Slytherins aren't looking for him too hard."  
  
"And of course the other houses aren't too sad he's gone missing either," put in Nora.  
  
"I'm sure Dumbledore knows, but maybe it's just none of our business," said Isis.  
  
"I'm sure it _is_ none of our business. Doesn't stop me wondering, though," Bella retorted with a smile. Nora and Emma and the other probably thought (and Bella was glad, and fairly certain that they did) that she was only interested in the absence of Professor Snape as gossip. But her curiosity went deeper than that. There was perhaps one other person at Hogwarts who knew that. She looked across the room at Draco and smiled to herself. He was in his own little knot of friends, gesturing to Crabbe and Goyle. They seemed to be talking about Quidditch. Pansy was there too, laughing at something Draco had just said. When Bella looked back to the circle, she found that the subject had changed. She wasn't the least bit sorry.  
  
Later that evening, Bella was sitting with Draco, looking at his homework. The Draught of Happiness had confused him too, and she had finished explaining the purpose of unicorn hair in it when she looked up at him and found him watching her with a curious expression on his face.  
  
"What?" she asked quietly.  
  
He sat back, still looking at her. "Nothing, really just thinking."  
  
"'Bout what?"  
  
He shrugged. "Lots of things. It's been a long day, and not as good as some, if you know what I mean."  
  
"If what you mean is Carmichael, then yes, I do."  
  
Draco frowned at the name. "Unfortunately."  
  
Shifting a little in her seat, Bella said shrewdly, "You know something about him, don't you?"  
  
He continued looking at her for a long moment. "Maybe I do," he said at last, his voice low. "Maybe I know why he hates us."  
  
"Draco, that's anyone's guess..." began Bella, but she stopped when she saw the look on his face.  
  
"I'm not guessing."  
  
It was her turn then to be silent for a moment. Then she said in a different voice, "I thought you might know him. You looked it. When you walked into that class it was like watching a ghost at his own funeral."  
  
He nodded. "I thought you'd know him too, since you did all that reading about," here he looked around swiftly, and then continued, "about the Dark Lord's fall."  
  
Bella looked at him, realisation dawning on her. "No! Not that Carmichael...the prosecutor?" For now Bella _did_ know who their teacher was, and it did not make her feel the least bit better. He had been a prosecutor for the Ministry years ago, after Voldemort's supposed death. He had been very influential in the Death Eater trials... "So he-"  
  
"He tried to put my father in Azkaban fifteen years ago," said Draco in a soft and dangerous voice. "And I bet he'd do the same to me, just to be safe."  
  
"Oh!" said Bella, and it was all she _could_ say just then. Her eyes were wide. She recovered herself, and said, "Draco, I- I didn't know _that_..." She bit her lip. "This is awful." His grim silence chilled her. She was observant enough to know that Malfoy anger was a quiet, inexorable, deadly thing. She was a little afraid of him just then. She laid a hand over his, in a way she hoped was reassuring. He looked up at her again.  
  
"Draco..."she said slowly, "you know- you know I'm with you, right? That you can trust me and count on me to stand by you and all that rubbish? You're not alone."  
  
His fingers curled around hers, and she was relieved to see his expression warming a little. "Good to know, Bella," he said softly. "Misery loves company. You can't like the bastard any more than I do."  
  
"Can't say I do," she said, still a little worried for him, but glad he seemed to trust her. His thumb traced absently across her knuckles, and she drew in her breath a little. She gave him a little smile as she whispered, "I think I can manage, though." He smiled back.  
  
"You know Bella, I see what it is about you."  
  
"What about me?"  
  
"I know why people talk to you, and tell you things. I know why I talk to you, and I don't talk to anyone, really."  
  
She shrugged, not quite sure where he was going. "I listen?"  
  
"No, no," he said, shaking his head. "Everyone around here listens! But I'm not going to tell them anything, just for that. NO, it's something else. You're strong, Bella. And you're decent. I mean, really, you're good when it matters."  
  
"Wouldn't have expected to hear you say that," she said smiling, though she was quite glad that he had.  
  
He shrugged. "Not like some law abiding straight laced good. I mean, you know what you care about and you stick to it."  
  
"You mean like you?"  
  
"I hope so." 


	11. Christmas

**Chapter Ten**

**Christmas**  
  
Late in the day, Bella had settled herself down in the holiday-decorated Slytherin common room to compile a particularly long essay on the theory and ethics of Transfiguring Potions. There were books open on her lap and her eyes were skimming avidly over the words, but she was not absorbing it. The information passed through her like a sieve. Scowling at the books, she closed them and set them aside. There were too many loopholes in this essay to write it quickly, and not enough depth to make it worth staying up all night. She resolved to do it tomorrow, and a bloody good job, boredom be damned, but for the moment she needed a break. Yawns after yawn parted her lips and it wasn't even nine o'clock yet.  
  
Packing away her school things, Bella pulled her feet up into the chair and curled into it, watching the flickering fire. The other students were gathered in little knots here and there about the common room, absorbed in whatever little things they were doing. She could see Draco slumped in a chair scowling over a book. He had been in a rotten mood for the last few days. She didn't know what had wrought the sudden change in him.  
  
He had been different ever since the start of the term. On his return to Hogwarts she had seen he had changed somehow over the summer. His father was in prison now, and it seemed as though he carried something with him these days that he hadn't carried before. Bella didn't like to think what. Professor Carmichael wasn't everything. Had he taken up the mask, then? He seemed awfully young for a Death Eater, but then, what she really knew about the Death Eaters could probably fill a tea saucer and very little more. But Draco she knew...she could read him better than even he probably realised.  
  
He had seemed darker, colder, and his temper was closer to the surface than ever. It was as if, swimming behind his pale eyes was a new inheritance, a new development of character that had somehow been cemented, crystallized by whatever had happened to him over the summer holidays. He seemed years older now, with more going through his mind than he had when she'd seen him last. Last year he had been a boy, with a boy's likes and hates and grudges. He had changed.  
  
It was while thinking this that Bella noticed something outside the window. At first it seemed as thought it was just something blowing past, but then she saw it again. Looking harder she thought she had seen feathers. Jumping up, Bella went to the window and opened it, moving aside to allow the enormous, elegant owl outside to come soaring in through the window. It perched on the back of Draco's chair and hooted insistently at him. Draco snapped his book shut and took the small parcel from around the owl's leg. Bella shot him a quick look as the owl turned it big, yellow eyes on her. Draco silently cocked an eyebrow at her, and then turned his attention to the parcel.  
  
Opening it, he said quietly, "Bella, there's something in here for you." He handed her an envelope. "It's from mother."  
  
The envelope was thick, addressed in Mrs. Malfoy's narrow handwriting. IT seemed to contain several pages. "Thanks," said Bella, taking the owl on her arm and seeing it to the window. It ruffled its feathers and soared off into the night.  
  
The owl's arrival had attracted the other students' attention. They were coming round Draco's chair as he read the letter. Pansy Parkinson edged up to his chair, and Bella saw Draco fold the letter before she could read it. Bella felt uneasy. This was something important, or at least urgent, she could feel it in her bones. The little parcel hadn't come by the morning post...perhaps Mrs. Malfoy had not wanted others to see. That, at least was what Draco's attitude seemed to suggest.  
  
Draco looked solemnly at the parchment folded in his hand, his eyes narrow.  
  
"What is it, Draco," asked Pansy softly, kneeling next to Draco's chair. Draco pocketed the parchment and looked at her blankly for a moment as though he'd forgotten she was there.  
  
"Nothing," he said finally, "just family stuff." But again he shot Bella a look that was as much as to say, "Read yours too, you'll see." His eyes flicked from hers to the letter and back again.  
  
Pansy caught his glance, but only looked sourly at Bella.  
  
Bella shrugged and sat down in her chair again. The envelope itched in her hand but she didn't want to open it in front of everyone there. She took up her Charms book again and began reading. Draco, she noticed, had done likewise  
  
As the others dispersed, even Pansy, who hung about longer than the rest and seemed to be trying to comfort Draco, Bella took out the envelope again and quietly slit it open, shaking the contents into her hand. She found herself holding a single sheet of parchment and what looked to be two newspaper clippings. She looked at the parchment first.  
  
_Dear Bella_, it read,  
  
_I hope this letter finds you well. I received an owl just yesterday from the Headmaster, saying that you're doing very well in all your classes. I'm very proud of you.  
  
What I am writing to you about though, is another matter. I've sent you two cuttings from the Daily Prophet that concern you. One is from the evening edition that I received less than an hour ago, and I've sent a copy to Draco as well. Please stand with him now, I know it will come as a terrible shock to you both. I hope that you will be some comfort to one another. The other one, though, is for your eyes alone. I found it yesterday and it has made me worry for you. It seems that we have both been told less than the truth. I do not know what difference it makes now, but you have been in the dark long enough. You deserve to know. Please be careful, and remember that I am  
  
Thinking of you always,  
Narcissa Malfoy_  
  
Bella felt her stomach turn over. What on Earth...she shuffled through the clippings. The most recent one was on top. The first thing that caught her eye was a picture of Lucius Malfoy, looking arrogantly and defiantly at her out of the picture. The headline seemed to fill her insides with ice water. _"Lucius Malfoy, Death Eater, to Receive Dementor's Kiss"_ She read on in numb shock.  
  
_"Once respected citizen Lucius Malfoy, now residing in Azkaban Prison, has been convicted of sabotage and treason, and sentenced to receive the dementor's kiss in less than a week's time. When asked for comment on their decision to seek this extreme punishment, officials in charge would only say that Malfoy is too dangerous to allow any more leniency. "He got away from us once before. We will take no chances this time." The exact date has not yet been released to the press for security reasons, and because Ministry officials believe that other supporters of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named might try to orchestrate the escape of their comrade..."_  
  
Bella caught her breath. She lifted her eyes to Draco and saw him staring blindly down at his textbook, his jaw set and his face darkened. He sensed her look, and met her eyes. Bella couldn't find her voice. The look on Draco's face surprised her. It was not one of sadness or desperation, as she was certain hers was, but rather a look of vengeance and determination.  
  
She rose and went to sit by his chair, taking the space that Pansy had just vacated. He touched her hand. "Draco..." she whispered, still not knowing what to say.  
  
"Not here," he said in a cool, even whisper. "The others won't know about it yet. Not till tomorrow morning." But his voice spoke volumes that his words did not.  
  
Bella looked up at him in surprise, but he did not look back. He was glaring down at the book again. "What do you –" but he cut her off.  
  
"Not here," he said again. "Just listen to me, Bella. Trust me. They won't let it happen." He looked down at her at last, with the same grimly hopeful look on his face. He gave her a strained half smile and squeezed her hand tighter.  
  
Restraining her jaw from dropping, Bella nodded. He turned his eyes away. She slumped against the side of his chair, feeling like all her bones had been turned to jelly. She didn't trust his hopes. Mrs. Malfoy's words kept echoing through her head, and she felt wild and caged and despairing. What was Draco thinking? What did he know that she didn't? Did he know anything, or was it just blind, hopeless faith? She was grateful for the pressure of his hand now, as it seemed to be keeping her from dissolving into a puddle. They couldn't do this, she thought. She wished she could have seen Mrs. Malfoy, to comfort her somehow. Drawing her knees up to her chest, Bella stared down at the carpet.  
  
At long last, Draco said to her, "I'm going up to bed." He gave her hand a final squeeze and stood up.  
  
"Are you sure you'll..."  
  
"I'll be fine. You shouldn't believe everything you read in the papers." He turned and walked away towards to dormitories. He was still looking grim, and she wondered how much of what he'd said had just been for her benefit.  
  
Slowly, Bella came back to her chair. She noticed Pansy looking at her again with an expression of hatred on her face. She knew by now that Pansy thought she had her eye on Draco. Bella felt a little sick just then, thinking of something that silly at a moment like this.  
  
Sitting down, she picked up the letter again. There was still the other article, she remembered. She got a sinking feeling, and wondered what other dark news the evening had for her. Slipping Lucius Malfoy's article back into the envelope, Bella turned her attention to the second one. It was short, there was no picture. It was her father's death notice.  
  
Frowning at it, Bella wondered at first why Mrs. Malfoy had sent it to her. She had seen a similar article before, surely there wasn't anything different...  
  
But there was.  
  
The article she had seen before had only mentioned her father in passing. It had given no date for his death. This one did.  
  
It was more than a year before she was born.


	12. Despair

**Chapter 12  
  
Despair  
**  
The day was grey and dim. The sky stretched on for ages in pale grey, leaching the colour from the landscape. Bella felt cold and sick and terrified, with a lump of heavy dread sitting in the pit of her stomach. She'd felt this way ever since the letters came.  
  
The winter holidays were beginning and she had still heard no news of Mr. Malfoy, for better or for worse. She was waiting for Draco just now. He was up in the now empty boys' dormitory with his head in the fireplace, talking to his mother. She wasn't sure what they were talking about and she was ill with anxiety and impatience. Bella was afraid for all of them, and she couldn't do anything to help. She knew Draco must have been feeling even worse. She couldn't grasp his hope that his father would escape. It had been done before, but was it possible now, when they knew Voldemort was returned, and even more security than before? Perhaps Draco had had some news, and knew something she didn't. For all their sakes she hoped he did.  
  
She chewed her thumbnail absently, deep in thought. She tried in vain to swallow the lump in her throat. Just thinking about this made her want to cry, and she couldn't start that now. The crimes of Lucius Malfoy...what had he done behind that mask that made him such a dangerous criminal? Surely things that the Ministry could only guess at. Certainly it made Bella a little nervous. But to her, he'd always been kind. To her he had been a better benefactor than she could have ever hoped for. Never mind the part of her that wondered what would have happened if that wet punk Lucius Malfoy had found in the garden had been Muggle-born. Morals later, only sadness now. She well knew she wasn't Muggle-born, and what might have happened had not. And here she was, at the end of it all. The Malfoys had been as good to her as any family she had ever imagined and she did not intend to forget that. They had taken in an ignorant, lost, homeless witch who knew less about magic than the Mudbloods they so despised. She owed them so much it hurt to think about.  
  
A noise in the room startled her, but she turned and saw that it was just Draco coming in. She stood up quickly, looking at him expectantly.  
  
His face was pale and drawn. The dark shadows she'd noticed under his eyes that morning were more pronounced, and his voice had a ragged quality as he spoke. "Bella...I have to talk to you," he said. It seemed he was fishing for the right words before he spoke again.  
  
"What is it?" asked Bella, feeling the lead weight in her stomach grow heavier.  
  
He took a deep breath before he spoke. "Mother wants us both to come back for the holidays. She said she wouldn't hear of us staying here. And..." here he stopped a moment. "And we're being allowed to visit my father."  
  
Bella drew her breath in quickly. "In Azkaban? But I thought they didn't allow..."  
  
"Mostly they don't. But they make exceptions in some cases, mostly for –"  
  
"Oh," said Bella quietly. She felt sure he had been going to say "for the condemned", but had stopped himself. She didn't want to hear the words aloud either.  
  
"I mean," he said quickly, "you don't _have_ to, if you don't want to, I, well I understand..."  
  
She looked at him sharply. "Did you think I wouldn't?"  
  
"All I mean is...well, I was thinking you'd be afraid of the dementors."  
  
Bella had never met a dementor. She knew Draco had. She wasn't sure whether it was pride or stupidity that was talking through her, but she answered him anyway. "Look...I know what a dementor is. I know what they do. I get the idea. Of course I'm afraid of them; I think they're about the scariest thing I've ever heard of. But if I can see your father, then it's worth it. I don't care." Bella stopped suddenly. She had realised her voice was shaking.  
  
Draco's face had changed. Before he had only looked nervous, but now all he showed was a sorry kind of melancholy. "Bella, I shouldn't have..."  
  
"Shouldn't have what? Don't you know what you and your family mean to me?" She was breathing hard and her cheeks were burning. She knew she shouldn't trust her voice, knew it was trembling, but she was past caring now. "You don't know what it's like, not having anyone, being all alone! I was alone for fourteen years. And now, you think I'd miss what's probably my last chance to..." She gulped. There were tears in her eyes suddenly. She knew she shouldn't be saying these angry things, but she couldn't stop herself. Biting her lip, she said, "Shouldn't have _what?"  
_  
She had been going to say something else, something worse, but her voice just wouldn't come. Then Draco shut her up completely, taking a long step forward and wrapping her in his arms. Leaning her forehead on his shoulder, Bella tried not to cry. She hadn't been herself in days, and was beginning to think that any sentence she began would end in tears if things didn't look up soon. His arms felt real and solid around her, like the only thing keeping her from falling down.  
  
"I shouldn't have doubted," he whispered in her ear.  
  
Bella drew a ragged breath. Her cheeks were wet with tears. "I'm sick of it, Draco. I'm sick of having to act normal and be strong. I hate it, being stuck here, not knowing anything, not doing anything, but..." But what? There was nothing else to say. She felt helpless still, but at least not alone.  
  
"I know, Bella," he said, a hand squeezing her shoulder. "But try to trust me. Just trust me."  
  
Was it such a false hope? Of course she couldn't know. But it couldn't hurt to hope a little, just a little, for a while. And it seemed like a little of the grey had faded, and some colour had come back to the world.

* * *

Three cloaked and muffled figures showed up dark against the colourless water and the blank mist, the wind blowing it past them in great, cold, indifferent clouds. And the smallest of them shivered and looked around.  
  
She could see nothing in all this fog. The water paled and disappeared just yards away from shore. All she could do was listen anxiously for the envoy ship from Azkaban, and try to keep her head about her. And then, from far away, the soft lapping sound of the water was broken by another noise. It was the slow, steady tempo of oars slapping against the water, sounding disembodied and eerie in their invisibility. She looked nervously at Mrs. Malfoy.  
  
"Is that them?"  
  
"I don't know who else."  
  
And as if in answer to her word, Bella squinted into the mist and saw a dark ship moving toward them, crawling like an enormous insect on its oars.  
  
As it drew closer, other sounds of the ship filled the air. The creaking timber and the voices of the men on deck reached her ears, and Bella could see that the men on ship were not dementors. She had been expecting that, though she wasn't sure why. The ship came in alongside the dock, and a small gangplank was lowered. A man stepped out onto it and approached them.  
  
He was no taller than Bella, and rather shorter than the two Malfoys, but he was very stocky and muscular. His robes were the same colour as his thinning, straggly, iron-grey hair. He smiled none too kindly at the small group and bowed slightly.  
  
"The Malfoys, I presume?" He said in a rough voice just shy of mocking.  
  
"Yes," said Mrs. Malfoy coldly.  
  
"Then welcome to the Azkaban Galley." He stretched out an arm to indicate the little ship.  
  
Silently Mrs. Malfoy stepped onto the gangplank and followed by Draco, and Bella came last.  
  
At the top of the plank, a tall, gaunt man in the same dull robes held up his hand to stop Mrs. Malfoy.  
  
"Name, please, and relation to the prisoner," he said with his eyes on a dirty piece of parchment he was holding.  
  
Bella heard the slow, controlled exhalation that came before her words. "Narcissa Malfoy, wife."  
  
The tall wizard nodded curtly and let her pass. He blocked Draco, and said, name, please."  
  
"Draco Malfoy," he said, as icily as his mother. He stepped on board.  
  
Then it was Bella's turn. HE asked her the same question, and she answered Bella Thorne" and went to follow Draco, but he held up his arm again and wouldn't let he pass.  
  
"Sorry", said the tall one, not sounding it in the least. "Only immediate family of the prisoner are allowed to visit. You'll have to step down, Miss."  
  
"What!" cried Bella, but Mrs Malfoy stepped in.  
  
"Excuse me," she said in a voice like a fistful of razors, "But this young lady is a ward of the family, and it is quite within your rules to allow adopted children to visit."  
  
His eyes scanned the parchment he held, and at last he moved back and said, without looking a Bella, "She may board." He glared round at them grudgingly as she stepped on board. She felt he was hoping to meet them all again soon, under less favourable circumstances.  
  
Bella took her place with Draco and his mother, and felt Mrs. Malfoy put a hand on her shoulder. Her heart was beating very fast still, at the though of losing her last chance to see Mr. Malfoy, at least while he still...  
  
She cut her thought off. She mustn't think of that, or she'd start crying again. The image of Lucius Malfoy dead-eyed, unresponsive, yet still breathing, living but worse than dead, was absolutely too much. She twisted her hands together as they pushed off, the magic oars splashing and creaking in the oarlocks, moved by the invisible hands of some spell. They looked strange and threatening, somehow unnatural. They made the only sound on the voyage over.  
  
On the island the fog was thinner, and Bella could see the forbidding eminence of Azkaban fortress rising into the mists, which still obscured the top of it. She felt her hopes for escape sinking down into her toes. She could dimly see dark shapes walking - no, _gliding_ on the battlements.  
  
_There they are, _she thought grimly. Though seeing the dementors didn't make her feel any better, she had the momentary solace of knowing that at least those ones were very far away.  
  
They followed the short stocky warden to the great dark gates where the portcullis came down at let them in, the fog dripping off it sullenly.  
  
The warden motioned them towards a little wooden door, which he opened for them and shut abruptly behind Bella.  
  
"Before your visit you must be searched," he said flatly. "If you won't consent to a search you will not be allowed to visit the prisoner. Step this way."  
  
There was a standing archway in the centre of the room that he directed them to go through. One by one they passed through it, and it glowed blue, and then a pale gold and the warden nodded.  
  
"And, for the duration of your stay, Mrs Malfoy, you and the children will have to surrender your wands." He smiled again and held out his hand.  
  
Bella looked at Draco as he reluctantly handed his wand over. Bella felt more than a little uneasy handing her wand to the grimy little wizard. For the first time in more than two years she didn't have it by her side and she found her hand moving anxiously to the empty wand pocket in her robes. The warden took their wands and handed them to another who put them in a long, steel box. As it closed the seam of the box disappeared and it took on the look of a piece of rough stone, the same colour as the fortress. He took it into the next room.  
  
"Follow me," said their guide. And they did.  
  
He took them down a long, dark corridor, longer than Bella would have thought possible. After what seemed like years walking down the twisting turning passage, they stepped out into the dull cheerless daylight again.  
  
"Welcome to Azkaban Prison," said the warden grimly. There was a small courtyard below them but they were going along a pathway on its side. Their unpleasant guide led them inside at the end of the walkway, and down many more dark corridors.  
  
_They all look the same,_ thought Bella. _I could never find my way out again_. She was getting more and more jumpy as they went on. She hadn't seen any dementors yet, but she kept looking around like she was expecting one to jump out at them. Maybe she was.  
  
As they rounded a corner, Bella looked behind them. She had seen something out of the corner of her eye...  
  
At the end of the hallway, there was something. Gliding along the corridor, crossing the one they were moving down, was a dark, cloaked shape. A dementor. Bella froze. She tried to turn around, but felt her muscles go stiff. She felt cold all over, frozen to the bones, as though her blood had been frozen all at once. She felt brittle, like a young shoot of grass caught in a frost. And it turned, and through her blind terror, Bella knew it was coming closer.  
  
Despair was rising in her, fear and sadness too, but mostly just hopeless, helpless despair. This was what held her there like a bucket instant magic cement. There were no words to describe the horror she felt, and nowhere to go but into the dark...  
  
The memories came then, rising like dark water, thick like quicksand. Panic rushing back to her like it was happening, like she was twelve all over again, standing dead on her feet, over the bleeding, twitching body of a nameless stranger. She could still feel the bruise he'd left on her arm as he'd pulled her into the doorway, could still feel the knife under her jaw, the voice growling for her not to make a sound. And she hadn't, only felt that warm maddening prickling like a psychic sneeze building, only made a little sound as it flew out of her like a bullet when he'd started unbuckling his belt...  
  
She gasped for breath, trying to bring back the present, to feel the ground under her, but she was slipping back even farther, not in the doorway anymore...  
  
It was a dark road now, in the middle of nowhere, with woods rising on all sides and bathed in the white glow of the car's headlamps. She was standing in the middle of the road, staring down at the crushed buck lying in front of her _(But I don't have a...)_ car. She heard it's wheezing, gurgling breaths as it struggled with death, saw the pain in its wide, staring eyes and the blood dripping from its mouth. Shuddering, she saw the pocket knife flash down in _(and that's not mine!)_ her hand, and the blade bit deep into the animal's throat...she could _smell_ the steaming blood as it oozed out onto the tarmac, and even that hadn't done it and by the time the poor creature was dead the person she wasn't was crouched on the ground retching and sobbing like a child...  
  
Like the child she was, somehow, when the bullies had caught her coming home from a school that she _knew_ even as she remembered it, that she had never seen. Crying as the big one in the white jacket had pulled up her shirt and put out a cigarette on the chest of a ten-year-old boy that she knew she had never been, and screaming in a voice that had never been hers...  
  
Bella opened her eyes when she heard someone calling her name from far away. She blinked, and saw Narcissa Malfoy's face swim into focus above her, looking fearfully into her eyes. "Bella, can you hear me? Bella!" Her voice was heavy with relief as she saw the recognition cross Bella's face. "What in Merlin's name possessed you to stop?"  
  
Bella groaned and sat up. "What...what happened to me? I saw it, and then I just couldn't move...did I faint or something?" She looked around at Draco who was kneeling on her other side.  
  
He shook his head, his eyes wide and face pale. "No, Bella...I don't know, really. I saw you weren't there and we all went running back. You were on your knees and the dementor was just a few feet away from you. Your eyes were open but you acted like you couldn't see us, and didn't know we were there. And you were totally rigid. When the warden sent the dementor away, you went all limp and fell over. What happened to you? How do you feel?"  
  
She tried to shake off the confusion; she rubbed the spot on her chest where the cigarette had burned her, just above the left nipple where she knew there was no mark and never had been. Of course not, because that hadn't been _her_. That hadn't been her car or her hand or her knife or her dead deer. Only the first, the dead man, he was hers. His memory would live on with her till she died. For a moment all she could hear was her own voice whimpering "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't want to, I didn't mean it, I just wanted him to stop," over and over again. It was the strongest and the worst. But even that was nothing to the creepy, uneasy felling of having things inside her mind that weren't hers. Those other memories were right there now, like things she'd just never bothered to think about before, and they felt invasive and alien inside her head. "I'm sorry," she whispered to herself. ""What was that? What did I see?"  
  
"Your worst moments," offered the warden, pushing back his grimy hair.  
  
"I know that," hissed Bella. "But what about the others...?" she trailed off. Three pairs of eyes were watching her now with more than idle curiosity. She shook her head. "No, never mind. It was nothing. I forget."  
  
Draco helped her up. Her head was still swimming. Mrs. Malfoy quietly gave her a piece of chocolate when the warden's back was turned. Bella felt herself thaw as she nibbled it, and her mind clear. But the memories were still there, like a potent nightmare, hovering in her thoughts. Whose were they, then, if they weren't hers?  
  
Their journey through the bowels of Azkaban was over. The warden stopped before a heavy, dark iron door. "There's another hallway that runs beside this one. It's the one the dementors use, and guarded with spells so we don't have to feel it every time they go by." He looked around at them, stopping a little longer on Bella. "I have to clear them out before you go in. Wait here." He turned abruptly and unlocked the door. As it opened a palpable wave of cold passed over them, and for a second Bella felt herself get dizzy again. She sucked in her breath and dug her nails into her palms to keep herself grounded, doing the best to deny the flashes of misery that rose around her like swamp water.  
  
It left her all at once when the door slammed shut. Bella was relieved to be herself again, but frightened all over again. After a moment the warden came back, and this time the open door didn't send anyone into fits of terror.  
  
"You can go in now."  
  
And in they went.  
  
The only light in the little cell came from a small barred window. And where its light fell on a thin cot, Bella saw a gaunt figure slumped against the wall. It was, unmistakeably, Lucius Malfoy.  
  
He looked up and met their eyes silently, with a wan smile flitting across his lips. At first Bella was surprised at how normal he seemed. Though his face was haggard and unshaven and his long hair uncombed, he stood up to greet them like any genteel wizard welcoming visitors.  
  
Before he could speak, Mrs Malfoy rushed forward and threw her arms around his neck. And it was not until he touched her that Bella saw the shadows beneath his eyes, and felt the haunted, hollow dread of another night in this cold room. She sensed the long, chilly imprisonment here stretching back like looking up at the sun after falling down a well, wondering how to get up again. It was as if, with another human being in his arms, he remembered what he had been taken from, and all of a sudden missed it all over again.  
  
For a time there was silence, and then a moment when Bella thought she saw Mrs Malfoy's lips moving next to his ear. There were tears in her eyes when she stepped back.  
  
"We've missed you," she said softly. "All of us."  
  
He turned to Bella and Draco and caught them both in a tight embrace. "Oh, and I've missed you," he said fervently. His voice was so ragged and heartfelt Bella began to wonder how long they'd have to run for it if she could kill the warden, if that's what it would take to get him out. It sounded like he hadn't spoken aloud in months.  
  
Letting them go, he took their hands and pressed them, saying, "I've thought of you, both of you, but they won't let me, they steal the good memories when they're here. I thought I was starting to forget...but you're just as I remember, and it's wonderful to see you..." Bella couldn't help a shiver when she saw his wide, haunted eyes as he spoke of the dementors.  
  
"Father, they can't do this," whispered Draco furiously, "They can't –"  
  
"Hush," said Mr Malfoy, in an even lower whisper. "They can, but it doesn't mean they will. Not now, though, not with that filth outside the door, listening. Just remember, that we are _all_ doing what we can." He gave Draco what seemed a very significant look. Silently, Draco nodded. He knew it was no time to talk of such things. But what time _would_ they have? Bella searched Mr. Malfoy's face, but it was inscrutable. He had always been good at that.   
  
As they left the fortress with their wands restored to them, the party of three was subtly different. They were all still silent, but now the silence had something darker, something funereal about it. Draco's head was down, his arm around his mother's shoulders. He looked at her now and again, but Bella didn't meet his eyes. On the way over, she had been an inch away from tears every step of the way. But after that, after the things she'd seen, she felt different. She was numb, like a wire had been cut. She could see, hear, think, and all the rest. But she felt nothing, other than empty. She couldn't even feel the wind properly anymore, it seemed.  
  
_I couldn't cry now if I tried,_ she thought. Why was she so detached now, so apart? Why was she so distant from the pain of the other two? Mr. Malfoy was still up against the same awful fate as he had been this morning! Why did that feel so vague now, when earlier it had terrified her?  
  
There were questions buzzing in her mind. Just a week ago she had only been worried about him being in prison, and she knew that, even if he was in Azkaban, his wife was doing all she could to petition for parole. Now the situation was nothing but a big, horrible uncertainty. He could be given the Kiss at any time, left an empty body with the soul of Lucius Malfoy gone, eaten away by some dementors horrid insides. And her father was someone else, and her head was full of other people's thoughts...  
  
She wouldn't cry, but Bella wondered if she thought about this too much if she might skip the weeping step and just go utterly insane. She knew she definitely would if she could feel it all properly. Perhaps it was some kind if defence, like a reflex.  
  
And as the boat crawled slowly away from the island, Bella did indeed feel herself begin to shake. With fear, with cold, with anger..._Not here,_ she thought ferociously. _Not yet, not with that awful warden here. Not till I'm alone._ She could do it, she could stay strong, if it was really strength. She could stave off madness for a few more hours. 


	13. First Impressions

**Chapter 13  
  
First Impressions**  
  
Here there was nothing but the dark, the warm, humid, sickening dark. Like being in a blind cocoon, she could not have seen her hand in front of her face, but she couldn't lift her hand. But why couldn't she? She moved her hand a little and heard the clink of chains and the hard metal band of the manacle on her wrist. Manacles! And on her ankles, too, there were shackles and chains.  
  
Funny, she had expected it to be cold. Cold she could handle, but this stifling, horrible heat was too much. Locked away here in this cell...where was she? Why was she here? She couldn't remember. She didn't know. That was worst of it, of course, even worse than the horrible smothering atmosphere.  
  
She drew a deep breath and called out, "Hello?" Her voice rebounded off the walls at her sounding harsh and mocking. From the sound she could tell the room was tiny, and had no echo. It was like shouting into a hole in the ground. Was it a prison? Or a tomb? "Is anyone there? Can you hear me? Hello?" Her voice, now desperate and frayed with terror, grated on her panic-dry throat. "Where am I?" she breathed to herself.  
  
She felt vaguely uncomfortable, and tried to shift her weight. Her body felt strange and detached from her mind. It seemed to take her a long time to coordinate her limbs, and she felt as thought she couldn't have told the difference between a broken leg and her foot falling asleep. The sound of the clinking chains also sounded otherworldly, like it was coming from another room.  
  
Then, without warning, the door opened. A broad beam of light streamed in, bright and sterile like fluorescent hospital lamps. There was a dark figure blocking the door, and Bella's dazzled eyes couldn't clearly see them. She felt dizzy suddenly, and like she was fainting. She felt like the light had dealt some fatal blow, that now she was slipping away, checking out. The room wavered and dimmed, but then slowly grew solid again. She opened her eyes again, and now she could see the dark silhouette better, its broad shoulders and stubby hands...  
  
The unpleasantly familiar face of the Azkaban warden came clear suddenly, and she realized he had come forward to undo her chains. He was pulling her to her feet, and then pushing her out the door.  
  
She saw a hallway, like in a prison cellblock, the kind she'd seen on Muggle television years and years ago. She had never been here before! This was a Muggle prison. But no, it couldn't be, not with the warden working here, and, oh, then came the cold, great sick waves of it that made her long for the stifling, coffin-like warmth of her cell. She could see the dementors now, sliding in from both sides. She saw other prisoners looking out from the bars. They felt nothing, it seemed, but only shook their heads at her disapprovingly. The dementors took a stand on either side of her and each seized one of her arms. At their touch the fear broke over her like waves of icy water. She was so wrapped in the despairing terror that she was only dimly repelled by their filthy, decayed hands clamped around her arms, like vengeful dead things rotting in bogs, and she didn't notice her knees buckling as she sank to the ground.  
  
"Go on, get up!" cried one of the prisoners harshly from behind the bars.  
  
"Don't talk to her, whatever you do!" someone hissed at him, almost fearfully, as if she could do anything to him.  
  
Bella was confused, bombarded with questions from her own mind and struggling to keep control over herself, but she couldn't wonder about it now. She didn't –she couldn't –care.  
  
The hands on her held like clammy steel, all but dragging her because she couldn't seem to put one foot in front of the other. She didn't know where they were taking her, but she wanted to get there, anywhere, if they would only let go of her. The hallway dimmed, and like foul, loathsome sea creatures shooting to the surface, the memories came.  
  
There were so many she couldn't keep them straight. They were disjointed, confusing, scattered images, leaving black footprints on her mind. She saw the dead buck, and the bullies. She saw a little boy with a bloody nose that he'd got from his mother, who was swallowed up by a fall off a broomstick fro a sickening height. Muggle mixed with wizard until she couldn't tell the difference anymore, deluged by an endless flood of other people's fear and guilt and sadness. Not hers, that hand full of little white pills, not hers, that blood dripping darkly on the white, ceramic tile. Not her screaming or maybe it was, if she had ever screamed like that. She couldn't think clearly, only remember and remember and remember.  
  
"Attention, please," boomed a voice over a crackly speaker. "Bring out the prisoner."  
  
Bella was dragged forward and flung down. It took her a long moment to realize where she was. The air was fresh again, and the sky was blue! She gulped in air like she was drowning; realised that the light that stabbed at her eyes was really sunlight. But what was the shadow over her? And she was lying on wooden planks, why was that? There was something scratchy around her neck...And she looked up and saw the scaffold, and then she knew, dizzy again like fainting as she clawed at the prickly hempen rope round her neck, desperately pulling at the noose that wouldn't budge.  
  
"No..." she moaned, her mouth perfectly dry. And then in a hoarse scream, _"No!_ I've done nothing! Why am I here?"  
  
She heard voices then, frightened mumbling from all around. The voice of Cornelius Fudge rang out, "Don't listen ladies and gentlemen, don't worry, just cover your ears."  
  
And Bella looked around and saw that the scaffold was raised in the middle of a large city park, with gazeboes and bandstands and families on blankets with picnic lunches set out on the grass. So many people here, just to watch her execution.  
  
"What did I do!" she shrieked at the hooded executioner.  
  
"Nothing yet," he said in a shocked sounding voice very like Professor Carmichael's. "But you don't expect us to take a risk like that. You're just too dangerous!" And with that he pulled the lever and the trapdoor dropped. The noose jerked tight and the faint that had followed her all the way from the prison cell finally rose like dark water creeping up around her, to her chin...swamp water touching her lower lip, touching her upper lip, sliding up under her nose and smelling like carrion, and covering her eyes as Bella hung there drowning in the air, watching the last bubbles of her breath drift up to the surface. And she went under, as the dark water cooled her, chilled her, and killed her as everything went dark...  
  
Bella jerked awake.  
  
She rolled out of the chair, shaking, falling to her knees on the carpeted floor. She was drenched in cold sweat, gulping done air as she thought she had done moments ago in the face of death. Her relief was almost paralyzing, almost nauseatingly welcome as she clutched madly at her own body, feeling for her beautifully unfettered wrists and unbroken neck. IT had been a dream, an awful dream, but nothing more.  
  
The dream's terror was still on her, her breathing still heavy and ragged. She moaned into the silence of the room. Hogwarts, safe at Hogwarts, not in some horrible dream prison, no dementors, no noose. There was a broad patch of moonlight coming through the window, silvery and calming somehow as she crept into it and tried to still her shaking limbs. She looked up at the sky and saw the clouds part for the round moon as they swept through the night. She stared up for a moment, transfixed, breathing more evenly and shaking less.  
  
Bella got slowly to her feet and took a few steps. The dream was still fresh and horrible in her mind, and if she let herself she could feel all that terror again like she had never woken up. She gulped, rubbed her face with her hands, and pinched herself on the arm. _I'm not there anymore, it wasn't real,_ she thought as she pressed her fingers to her eyelids, _I haven't done anything wrong, I'm not dangerous...  
_  
She walked to the window, taking slow, measured steps and being careful to go easy on her unsteady knees. She sat on the window seat and looked out. The grounds were covered in moonlight like clear mercury, and slightly blue under the rolling sky. Taken by the view, Bella smiled in spite of herself. This was her world, this real and solid place. The dream had been nothing but smoke in the wind. She was whole and alive. Until that moment, she hadn't felt sane.  
  
Just then, something caught her eye. There was something moving across the broad stretch of grass that was between her and the walls. A dark shape was coming towards the castle, and as she looked harder she could make out the cloak they were wearing, with a deep hood pulled up over their head. In a moment of terror, Bella thought it was a dementor, but then the figure stumbled.  
  
Who could it be, slipping back into the school in the dead of night? They stumbled again, and this time she could make out a white hand against the black cloak, pressed to the chest of the dark stranger. They were sick, or hurt...for a moment it looked like they couldn't go on. Pity, or at least concern, was conquering Bella's fears. Even as the figure struggled to their feet, she wanted to lend them an arm. She was still worried about what the stranger might do, though. Who _could_ it be? She doubted it was a teacher. Maybe a student...  
  
She watched their slow and laboured progress to the castle. She saw them moving along the base of the castle, and then they disappeared.  
  
The stranger was inside.  
  
Bella rose, and then hesitated. What was she thinking? They could be dangerous. But how had they gotten into the grounds? She had a vague idea that no one could get in without someone at Hogwarts knowing. But she didn't know for sure...Her mind battled for a moment. They couldn't have Apparated, not with the wards in place, and certainly they didn't seem in a state to do it anyway. Someone who meant harm to anyone in the school wouldn't come here injured. The hell with her conscience, her curiosity would never let her rest if she didn't investigate. If she was caught, she'd cross that bridge when she came to it. She only wanted to help, after all.  
  
Bella set out across the common room, and climbed out the portrait hole, ignoring the sleepy grumbles of its occupant. She made her way through the castle, down to ground level, not far from the door she'd seen them enter.  
  
She stationed herself in a dark corridor, not daring to make a sound, let alone a light. For a long moment, she thought she was alone. Then, from the other end if the corridor, she heard footsteps. She darted into a niche behind a statue and waited there, scarcely breathing.  
  
The footsteps drew nearer, and she squeezed back into the shadows as the cloaked figure walked by. She hadn't seen their face, but she could make out a tall man with dark hair that was matted with what might have been water but was probably blood.  
  
His breath was halting and laboured. It sounded terrible, like someone with bad asthma. He was fumbling for the doorknob at the end of the hall. She heard the knob click and the door open. Bella waited until she heard the footsteps diminish in the distance, and then stuck the tiniest possible part of her head out of the niche and looked down the hall.  
  
She nearly screamed.  
  
She was staring right down the stranger's wand. He was leaning hard on the wall just beside the niche, wand pointing right into her face.  
  
"Step out and show yourself. Quickly, now, who are you?"  
  
Bella obeyed, stepping out into the middle of the passage and raising her hands. "I'm a student here," she said shakily.  
  
Even in the half light, Bella could tell she was being glared at. His breath was coming hard. "That," he said softly, "is a very poor excuse in the middle of the holidays, in the middle of the night. Now, I will ask you one more time. Who are you?"  
  
"I'm a student! My name is Bella Thorne. I just started here this year. The Malfoys..." she stopped. He had lowered his wand.  
  
"Oh," he said unevenly, "You."  
  
She nodded violently. She wasn't sure who she was talking to, but she could tell he was some kind of authority. Bella swallowed hard, hoping she hadn't horribly offended someone.  
  
"Why are you down here?"  
  
"I saw you coming in...you looked hurt."  
  
"And told no one, I suppose?" he said acidly. "Why didn't you alert your head of..." he stopped. She wasn't sure if he had stopped because of whatever injuries he had, or for some other reason.  
  
"The head of Slytherin House is away. Professor Snape has been gone for months."  
  
He was silent for a moment. Then, he took a deep, slow, painful sounding breath and said, "Well, perhaps he will have to forgive you for spying on him. _Lumos!"  
_  
The dark hallway was filled with wand-light, and Bella finally saw his pale face in sharp relief against his black hair and clothes. There was a trickle of blood running from just above his left temple, and there were beads of sweat on his face. He took her in at a glance that swept from head to toe without his face revealing the least what he was thinking.  
  
After a long pause, he said, "Well?"  
  
"Professor Snape, I'm very sorry I disturbed you, but are...are you..." she faltered. "Are you hurt?"  
  
"I can manage myself, Miss Thorne. I suggest you return to your –ah!" he broke off, and she could hear the tight, pained rasping of the air in his chest.  
  
"Sir, please! You _are_ hurt, and in bad shape..."  
  
His lips thinned in pain and exasperation too, she guessed. "Miss Thorne," he hissed, "There's nothing you can –do," he finished, gritting his teeth. She could see the pain he was in, and recognised the curse that would do that to a man, by making every breath an agony. She couldn't stand the sight of the tendons in his neck standing out and the deathly colour in his cheeks. She pulled out her wand.  
  
"No!" he rasped, but she took no notice.  
  
_"Strictus relaxo!"_ she cried, aiming the countercurse directly at his chest.  
  
Professor Snape staggered back against the wall. He was staring hard at her with sharp, glittering black eyes. He took several deep breaths with perfect ease. "Miss Thorne, I thought I told you to return to your dormitory and leave me in peace." His voice was no longer strangled and thin, but quiet and deep, and full of irony. His words reverberated through the passage, just threatening enough to put her on edge and completely off guard.  
  
"I –I'm sorry, sir, I just..." But she found she couldn't quite find the words.  
  
"Yes, Miss Thorne. Believe me, you just made life a good deal easier for me. I'm not ungrateful. I feel rather inclined to forget this meeting and your, well, insubordination. In fact, you would be wise to do the same."  
  
"Yes, sir, but...if you don't mind my asking...what happened to you?"  
  
"As a matter of fact, I do. I'm afraid it is none of your concern."  
  
She nodded, and turned to leave.  
  
"One more thing, Miss Thorne. How did you know it was the Constrictus Curse?"  
  
"Umm," said Bella, quite taken aback, "It was your breathing, sir. I knew it wasn't the Cruciatus, and...It's the only one I've heard of that constricts the lungs without touching the rest of the body. You can't use the Finite Incantatem charm on it, because it can make the pain in the lungs worse, or damage them permanently."  
  
He nodded, and she saw his lips curve into a small, wry smile. "Very astute. I can see you have spent time with the Malfoys." He took a step closer. "You were their ward, if I'm not mistaken? You might like to give the _Prophet_ a glance tomorrow, and Mr. Malfoy would do well to do the same. I believe you'll find it interesting."  
  
With that he stepped back. Bella had been meaning to say something, but the words died on her lips. Instead, she just said, "Goodnight Professor," and turned to leave. She could feel his eyes on her retreating back all the way back to the portrait hole.  
  
When she was back in her dormitory, Bella lay awake thinking in the dark for a long time.  
  
Well, Professor Snape was back. And what a strange man he was...where had he managed to cross paths with the Constrictus Curse? Nowhere innocent, she was sure.  
  
It was one of many others, called Auror Curses because they were meant to stop or slow down an enemy without killing him. They weren't common curses, and not cast lightly by any wizard, usually because they were hard to remove and needed difficult countercurses.  
  
Professor Snape had not been vacationing.  
  
But what did he mean, read the paper? 


	14. Mixed Blessings

**Chapter 14  
  
Mixed Blessings**  
  
It was easy waking up that morning. Sleeping had been the hard part. Bella had tossed and turned all night, lying awake for long stretches of time with uneasy dream between. She was up and dressed in a flash, and spent an agonisingly long time loitering around the common room waiting for Draco to come down. As soon as she saw him, she caught him by the arm and pulled him aside.  
  
"I need to talk to you," she whispered. _"Now."_  
  
He followed her to an isolated corner, looking curious and a little apprehensive. "About what?"  
  
Bella told him what had happened last night. When she'd finished, his eyes were as big as saucers. "But Draco, you can't tell _anyone_, if this got around..." She trailed off into a meaningful silence.  
  
He nodded. "What are we waiting for? Let's get down there before the post comes." He spoke breathlessly, as if the same thing had occurred to him as it had to her.  
  
Faster than necessary and slower than they would have liked, Bella and Draco hurried down to the Great Hall. The first owl came soaring in as Bella was buttering toast and she nearly dropped it in her lap as the creature landed. Draco took the paper, and Bella paid for it. As he unfolded it, Bella saw the most indescribable expression cross his face.  
  
He was flushed and had his lower lip pressed between his teeth, and his hands were nearly shaking as he spread the paper on the table. "Bella, look at this!"  
  
Bella's eyes widened as she took in the front page. "Prison Break from Azkaban..." she read in a whisper, scanning down the article. "You were right, Draco..."  
  
The article was subtitled, _High security prisoners escape, in second Azkaban break in two years.  
  
_Draco looked like he was about to start singing. Bella kept reading.  
  
_"The wizarding world holds its breath this morning as the search begins for the perpetrators of last night's breach of Azkaban security. A number of prisoners escaped from the island fortress last night, most of whom were the Death Eaters apprehended earlier this year in the Ministry of Magic. It can be assumed that their escape was the purpose of the break in, as three of the five other prisoners counted missing have been apprehended, and the others will most probably be accounted for before the day is out. But there has been no sign or sighting of the escaped Death Eaters, among them the condemned prisoner Lucius Malfoy..."  
  
_Bella stopped reading. The rest of the page was filled with photographs of Lucius Malfoy and his fellow Death Eaters, looking daggers out of their little mug shots. For a moment she couldn't focus her eyes. She looked up at Draco, who was smiling.  
  
"I told you," he said quietly. "I knew they'd get out!"  
  
But Bella didn't answer. Something at the bottom of the page had caught her eye.  
  
_"Considering the methods used to break out of the fortress, authorities are certain that outside help was necessary. Robed and masked Death Eaters were seen fleeing the scene, but attempts to apprehend them failed. The Death Eaters managed to get out past the Apparition wards around the island before Ministry Aurors could catch up to them. Some were believed to be injured by curses while escaping, and the Ministry has issued warnings to all curse breakers and magical infirmaries to report anyone under an Auror Curse to the proper authorities immediately. The Ministry has advised them to use extreme caution dealing with them..."  
_  
Bella raised an eyebrow and smiled wryly. She pointed to the paragraph and said in an offhand, half mocking voice, "Gracious, Draco, look here. We ought to be careful." She shook her head and lowered her voice, even though the hall was nearly empty. "I guess I _did_ save Snape a lot of trouble."  
  
"How did you know about Snape? Did mother tell you he was...?"  
  
She shook her head. "There's some things I don't need to be told. I know an Auror curse when I see one."  
  
"Brilliant, Bella," said Draco, shaking his head. "You're good."  
  
She smiled a little, but said nothing. She ate her toast thoughtfully; it felt like the heavy lead weight was disappearing from her insides. The hall was filling up slowly, as the other students came trickling in. School didn't start until tomorrow, but they weren't the only ones who had come back early. Many parents of students seemed to think this was the safest place for their children, now that Voldemort was back. She was looking around at the others. It seemed as though no one else had picked up the paper yet. _He's free,_ she thought happily. _He's out and he's safe...well, mostly, anyway... _Her thoughts were happy for now. She knew the escape boded very ill for a lot of people, but it still hadn't sunk in. For now, Bella was content to be glad for Draco, and glad for Mr. Malfoy. She was glad to see the dull, deadened edge that Draco had had for weeks disappearing. He seemed awake and alive again.  
  
As the hall filled up, though, more post owls came, some bearing newspapers. She watched as a few others at other tables unfolded theirs, watched their faces as they read, exclaimed, and showed the paper to others. She watched as heads turned in their direction, and turned quickly away as she met their frightened eyes.  
  
"Draco, look," she said, nodding toward the Gryffindor table. Potter and his two friends were sitting there, heads close together, talking. Hermione Granger shot a look over her shoulder at them, and quickly turned back when she met Bella's eyes.  
  
"I'd like to know what they think they can do about it," he growled. "It'll go badly for any that try..."  
  
Bella nodded, but felt her spirits dip a little.  
  
She didn't wish harm on anyone at this school. She didn't want to see Muggle-borns tortured and killed. Of course she didn't want that...but now to hope that the Dark Lord would be defeated, that would spell ruin for the Malfoys, and she couldn't live with that. If Voldemort were to be defeated again, perhaps to truly die this time, there were many who wouldn't rest until the Death Eaters were all dead or locked away. The desperate loyalty she felt for the Malfoys was terrible.  
  
Her mind went in circles like this for a long time. The thought of Voldemort's return scared her, but not in the way it scared most wizards. It wouldn't go badly for her, or the people she cared about the most. Not as though she or Draco had anything to fear from the Death Eaters. But of course her conscience wouldn't let it rest at that. She felt like a terrible person when she thought about all the innocent people who would suffer, and felt worse that she was putting the few she loved above the many she had never even seen. But it was hard to make the honourable choice, to hope for the personal sacrifice, to admit that hundreds of lives were too high a price to pay for a handful of people, even if she loved them. Bella had to admit it, though. She _was_ selfish. She knew how she'd feel if any harm came to them. She privately swore she'd do anything to protect Draco and his family, even if she died trying. She reflected that it was a strange kind of selfishness, but she'd never been good at lying to herself.

* * *

Bella couldn't escape a deep feeling of foreboding as she walked to Carmichael's class the next day. Looking at Draco, she could tell he felt the same. Neither of them wanted to spend the next hour being told the horrible danger they were in, with Draco's father on the loose and all.  
  
Oddly enough, though, Professor Carmichael didn't dwell on the prison break at all. He seemed to have something else up his sleeve.  
  
"I'm sure the breakout from Azkaban is on everyone's minds today. I admit it's disconcerting. I've decided that, because of the circumstances, I'm going to alter my lesson plan for the next few weeks. We will be studying dementors."  
  
There was a murmur in the room. People shifted nervously. Bella remembered Draco telling her that the school had been patrolled by dementors before. The teacher lifted his hand and the room fell silent.  
  
"I'm sure you all know the reason Azkaban is so feared is that it's staffed by dementors. Until recently, we thought that was enough, but apparently it's not. They are not infallible. But to those who don't know how to protect themselves, or who are without wands, they are still a terrible thing. They feed on happiness, and will drain all the pleasant thoughts, all the happy memories from the humans around them. Many of the inmates in Azkaban go mad because of this. Of course, some do not. The prisoners who escaped last night, and the ones who managed it last year, were obviously sane enough. Some had been there for twelve, thirteen years.  
  
"There are ways to defend yourself against dementors. The Death Eaters know them. You would do well to learn them too, and that is what I plan to teach you. Can anyone name one?"  
  
Hermione Granger's hand shot up. "The Patronus Charm, sir."  
  
"Yes, I'm sure many of you have heard of the Patronus. It is a shield, a concentrated projection of happiness to hold off a dementor. In more advanced forms, it will take the shape of an- animal, usually one with some special significance to the one who casts it. Can anyone give me another example? I'm thinking of a very specific one."  
  
No hands went up this time. After a moment, Granger put up her hand. "But the Patronus is the only way to repel a dementor...isn't it?" It was the first time Bella had ever heard the girl sound uncertain.  
  
"Ah!" Carmichael brought his hands together with a loud clap. "Yes, the very word. _Repelling_ a dementor is not always necessary. If you find yourself wandless, it will not be possible. They will fill you with fear, with despair and sadness and self-hatred. They will steal your will to exist if you let them. But if you cannot _repel_ one, you may still be able to _resist_ it. I suggest you take notes on this.  
  
"Happy memories fuel the Patronus. But in resistance, there is a whole new focus. Most people think that dementors will steal everything from you except your worst memories, and leave nothing but those behind. This isn't entirely true. Powerful memories come to the surface first, and they stay there, tormenting us. But your minds are made up of more than just joy and despair. The key to resisting the dementor's power is not magical, but mental. You must bring up a memory that is neither happy nor sad, that doesn't evoke any strong emotion in you at all, something that a dementor wouldn't _want_ to take from you. That is why this is so difficult.  
  
"It is much easier to think of your happy moments than it is to fill you mind with a memory that means nothing to you. It must be something boring or mundane, like chewing gum, or making a list. Do you see what this accomplishes?"  
  
This time two hands went up. Bella's was one of them, a little to her own surprise.  
  
Carmichael looked at her with a slightly raised eyebrow. "Please explain, Miss Thorne."  
  
She took a deep breath. "If your mind is full of something mundane, like some little pointless, boring thought, it will put you in a sort of middle ground. You won't be happy, so it won't be able to take that from you. But at the same time you're keeping the really terrible memories out by putting all your energy towards thinking about, oh, I don't know, tobacco or pocket lint or something." Bella understood it quite well, but wondered why it had never occurred to her. It seemed so simple, in theory at least.  
  
The teacher nodded. "Very good, Miss Thorne. This is a very difficult thing to do. It takes a great deal of patience and focus to force yourself to be bored when your first reaction is one of paralysing fear and sadness. As hard as the Patronus is, many wizards find it easier than this." He paused as if to assess their reaction to his speech. Many of the students were scribbling down notes or whispering to their neighbours.  
  
Draco leaned over and whispered, "Do you think you'd be able to do that in front of a dementor?"  
  
Bella shook her head, wide eyed. "I get really confused around them. It's like I don't know who I am, or where, or when I am." She thought this was the best way of describing what she felt, without being too specific.  
  
Draco looked at her thoughtfully. "I've never heard of that happening to anyone before. But I've never seen anyone do quite what you did, back at Azkaban...Some people faint, but you didn't really..." He picked up his quill and picked at it idly. Then, in a low whisper, he said, "If you'd let me, I think there's someone I can ask."  
  
Bella looked at him, a bit surprised. "Who? And can I trust them?"  
  
"I'm talking about Snape. You know he wants to teach this class, he probably knows more about the Dark Arts than any teacher we've ever had. And he _would_ know about this."  
  
"Then, yeah, I guess so," she whispered back. "Do you really know him that well, to ask advice and everything?"  
  
He nodded. "Yeah. I'll tell you later."  
  
"Mr. Malfoy, Miss Thorne! I'll thank you not to talk out of turn in my classroom. Miss Thorne, ten points from Slytherin, and see me after class." Professor Carmichael was looking at them and smiling patiently, but his voice was growing dangerous. Bella said nothing in her own defence, knowing she'd only get in deeper. Draco looked like he was going to speak up, but she elbowed him in the ribs, not wanting to get either of them in more trouble. She only nodded and said, "Yes, sir."  
  
Then to Bella's annoyance he went on, as if nothing had happened. "This week we will be mostly discussing theory. Be ready to take notes and be patient. If I find that you understand the homework I give you over the weekend thoroughly, next week we will move on to the practical. That means the strength of your mind and character will be tested to my standards, and I warn you that they are high. But for now, let's move on.  
  
"There is one way of Binding a dementor so that, not only will it not attack you, it will be rendered helpless until the magic is broken. Have any of you ever heard of _this?"_  
  
No one raised their hand.  
  
"As I thought. It was developed from the Patronus Charm, and it is called the Patronus Entrapment. But it must be prepared in advance and comes at a high cost to its caster. Since the Patronus is a shield made of happiness, based in a powerful memory, the Entrapment must have a memory to spring from in order to work. One must remove the memory from your mind and place it into a Penseive, and speak the incantation over it. A small Patronus will appear in the Penseive, and can be moved to a small container, like one of these." He gestured to a number of small bottles and phials on his desk. "Open or break the bottle and the Patronus will emerge, without having to cast the spell. It will encircle the dementor and trap it inside for the rest of its life, if no one breaks the charm. And bear in mind, no one is entirely certain how long dementors live. I'm sure this seems wonderfully convenient, but as I said, it comes at a high price to the memory. The Patronus needs that memory to fuel itself indefinitely, even when the wizard who cast it had left, or even died. While the caster will be aware of that memory, and will recall that memory like any other, it will have none of its emotional power. They will never be able to conjure that Patronus from it again, and will essentially lose one of their happiest moments."  
  
Bella thought of her best memories. How awful that someone would have to choose which one to lose, which of their most treasured moments they would never feel again. The very idea made her a little uncomfortable.  
  
"Obviously, because of the dementors' role as guards of Azkaban, such a powerful weapon against them is strictly controlled by the Ministry. It shouldn't be attempted without Ministry approval. Before we made our peace with the dementors, we used it against them. If they break faith with us, it may need to be used again. Understand it and learn to use it, but hope that you never have to."  
  
He went on about the Patronus Entrapment for a while, taking questions from the class. Even Draco had to admit it had been worth hearing. But by the end of it, Bella was eager to get on to Potions, and resentful for having to stay after class, only wanting it to be done with for the day. She wanted a chance to make a better study of Professor Snape, and now she was going to be late for it, damn it all.  
  
As the bell rang, Bella whispered to Draco, "Go on ahead, don't wait up. Get to Potions and I'll meet you there. At least you'll get to see the look on everyone's face."  
  
He did as she asked, casting a foul look at Professor Carmichael as he left. Bella walked quietly up to his desk. He looked up as she approached and smiled thinly. "Ah, Miss Thorne. I'm afraid I've decided to give you a detention, and it falls to me to arrange it." He sighed a little, as though he was doing her a favour and felt very put upon. "I hope you take this as a warning, and will address yourself to my class when you're in it, and not distract t those around you. It seems that I have a number of books being shipped here tonight. I want you to help me sort and shelve them, and have a peek into what we'll be studying this term. I trust that suits you?"  
  
"It does, sir, though I don't think I'm in a place to complain."  
  
"Very good. Where is that...?" He began shuffling through the papers on his desk, looking for the detention form.  
  
Bella saw it shoved off to the side, buried under other papers and upside down. "Here it is, sir," she said, picking it up and handing it to him. She was surprised when he looked up at her, with a strange, complex expression on his face.  
  
She had seen Professor Carmichael angry, suspicious, and even sad before. But now the look in his eyes might have almost been fear. In a moment it was gone like the shadow of a thin cloud, but Bella would not be forgetting it soon.  
  
"Did I tell you to give me this? Why do you think I wanted this form?"  
  
"I thought, you know..." she foundered, not knowing how to respond. It had just seemed like the right thing to do. "I thought you _wanted_ the detention form." She felt like an idiot. She'd never had detention before, she didn't know if it was the right one... But he _had_ wanted that bloody form, she knew he had...He was frowning at her, and filling out the form she'd given him. He rolled it up, sealed it, and put it in his desk.  
  
"Be here at seven sharp."  
  
She nodded, and turned to leave. He called after her. "And Miss Thorne? I wouldn't try that again."  
  
"I, er, yes, sir, I promise I won't," she said over her shoulder, walking out the door, not looking back again.  
  
As she rushed down to Potions, Bella felt her detached dislike for Professor Carmichael growing into an apprehensive, personal grudge. She was grinding her teeth at the injustice of his punishment when she reached the dungeon classroom seconds before the bell rang.  
  
When she entered the room she could feel a palpable change in the room. The Gryffindor side of the room looked like they were facing a firing squad. And sure enough, the dark figure of Professor Snape was standing at the front of the class. He turned as she entered, and looked at her without much concern.  
  
"Good afternoon, Miss Thorne. Please take your seat, and we shall begin." Good, emotionless voice, with only mild interest, no trace of recognition. She went and took her seat next to Draco.  
  
She lifted an eyebrow to Draco and saw him smile and nod. It was only when she had stopped worrying about being late to class and angry at Professor Carmichael that her mind drifted back to his last words to her. There had been something in his tone that alarmed her, and she knew he hadn't been talking about disrupting class. What did he think she was trying to do?  
  
She took out her parchment and quill, and listened to Professor Snape lecturing. A Death Eater, teaching at Hogwarts...They were good at what they did, weren't they? This was supposed to be the safest place they could be, the one place where the students could feel protected from the dangers of the outside world...All of a sudden, Bella felt shivers running up her spine, like what they say happens when someone walks over your grave. Just then, the world looked very dark.

* * *


	15. Making Memories

**Chapter 15  
  
Making Memories  
**  
"So what do you know about Snape?" Bella asked, looking at Draco, and shading her eyes from the sun.  
  
He shrugged. "He's known father for a long time, and he used to visit now and then. I was a little scared of him, when I was really young." He laughed a little, picking a blade of grass.  
  
"I can see why. Imposing fellow."  
  
They were lying on the grass in the dappled shade of the trees, doing nothing in particular. The long week had finally ended, and the weekend seemed all too short in comparison. Bella still felt keyed up because of all that had happened in the last few days, and she had made up her mind that just about anything could happen now and it wouldn't surprise her. Unfortunately, it seemed like Draco didn't know any more than she did about where Snape had been for the first half of the year. What he did know only teased her curiosity.  
  
She sighed and flopped back on the grass. It was good to be outside in the golden light of the fading day, with nothing left to do and nowhere she had to be. She looked at Draco lying next to her, staring up at the trees. He looked like he was thinking, so absorbed that he didn't notice her watching him. He looked unreal in the late daylight, his blonde hair and grey eyes absorbing the sun, making him look golden and unearthly and not quite human. She found she liked the sight the more she looked at him, her eyes lingering on the shadows around his jaw and cheekbones. She felt herself blush. It wasn't the first time she'd looked at him this way, but now, for any number of reasons, it was easier to let her mind drift into these happy, foolish daydreams. It seemed more possible to like him this way, with her spirits higher, and her mind a little clearer.  
  
_Oh, he doesn't even know, does he? He's got no idea that I'm looking at him like this,_ thought Bella dizzily. _He's probably thinking about something important, like wondering when he'll see his father again. And I'm just sitting here drooling._ She smiled to herself.  
  
"Bella?"  
  
"Mm?" she answered, snapping out of her thoughts.  
  
"Do you like it here? At Hogwarts, I mean?"  
  
"Yeah. I mean, I like it as a school, I've learned a lot, even from Carmichael. But you don't mean that, do you?"  
  
"No. I mean the other students. It's hard not to notice nowadays. They're all so...afraid."  
  
"Are you surprised? We're not exactly on neutral ground. People don't want to make eye contact with us, Draco. I think it's us they're afraid of."  
  
"That's what I don't like."  
  
"I'd have thought you wouldn't mind. It's not as though you like the people you frighten. What did you call them, 'fools and Mudbloods'?"  
  
"Well, yes," he said, with a trace of a smile. "But I was thinking of you."  
  
"What about me?"  
  
"Oh, I don't know...I can tell it gets to you, being here. It makes you nervous when someone talks about capturing father, or the others. I don't care what they think about me, and I'm sure they think the worst. But you don't deserve this, to have to hide here with these idiots until something happens."  
  
Bella opened her mouth to speak, but she couldn't find the right words. She was touched by his concern, even though he'd misread her worries. He was watching her, searching her face. "Draco...don't worry about me," she said quietly, "I don't care what the rest of the school thinks. We've only got a year and a half left. And you've got it wrong. I wasn't worried about people being scared of me, I was worried for you. You know how I am, I hate being here, not doing anything to help anyone, and with your father in prison, it was awful. I guess I haven't been myself for a while, but it's looking up now, isn't it? I'll say it a thousand times, the rest of the world can go right to hell, and I won't care a fig a long as you and your family and the few people I know here get through it alive." This wasn't quite the truth, but it felt honest as she said it. "We'll get through."  
  
The smile returned, but his eyes were still serious. "I know we will. But I can't stand it, being locked up with these Muggle-loving fools, acting like we want them to come out on top. If it was just me, I wouldn't care either. But after everything, I wish it could go better for you. I'm sure you can handle it all, but I wish you didn't need to. You deserve better."  
  
"Why would I?" she asked, hearing something fierce and protective in his voice and not quite understanding it.  
  
"Bella, what do you think would happen if there were a dementor here right now? I'd feel sad and frightened and awful, but..."  
  
"You wouldn't freeze up and tip over like I would?" she finished, smiling at him.  
  
"I don't know what's happened to you, I don't know what you see. But after all that, whatever it was, you shouldn't have to worry about more. You belong to this world, and you're back with your own. And even that's not enough to keep you safe from it, for now anyway." Those last words were spoken hopefully, but a little ironically, as though challenging whatever he was hoping for to get on with it and happen.  
  
"I've had a hard life, Draco, full of trials and hardships and obstacles and all that rot. I got through that okay. And you and your family and even this school, they're the best things that ever happened to me. The past is past, and I can't change it. I wouldn't change it, because if it weren't for all the muck I had to slog through to get where I am, I'd be someone else completely. I've got all I need."  
  
His smile broadened and warmed his eyes a little. In a quiet, half disbelieving voice, "Merlin's beard, you really are unsinkable, aren't you?"  
  
She laughed. "It's what I do. For fourteen years, it was like I was a drifter, hitchhiking from one bunch of strangers to the next. Sometimes it was easy, and I was happy. Sometimes it wasn't so easy. But I always came out on top, and that's what I'm going to do this time. And I'm pulling you and the others through if it kills me." She grabbed his arm and gave it a playful tug.  
  
"Was it really like that?" he asked softly.  
  
She nodded silently, watching him watching her. He looked honestly curious. "I think if my life were a landscape it would be nothing but crags and gorges."  
  
"I know I've had it easy, and I know everyone has hard times. It just seems like you've had your share." He laid his hand over hers.  
  
"That's sweet, Draco," she said earnestly. "But think of it this way. Carmichael said something about memories the other day that's a lot truer than you might think. If it weren't for the bad ones, the good ones would seem ordinary. And I've got enough of both that I know the difference, that's all." She smiled at him reassuringly, lacing her fingers through his. She wasn't used to being worried about, and didn't know how to react. She saw Draco glance down to their clasped hands, and when he looked back up at her, there was a gleam in his eyes that she didn't know how to react to either.  
  
"I wish I could see it that way. Bad is so awful when good seems normal." His voice was lower, quieter.  
  
"Then make your own good memories."  
  
"Like what?" he asked softly, but something in his voice told her he needn't have asked that question.  
  
She slid a little closer and he lifted his hand to touch her hair. "Can I give you one?"  
  
Before he could answer she moved in and kissed him. She acted without thinking, without knowing exactly what to do. But it didn't matter anymore.  
  
She liked the way his lips felt against hers, silky and warm, but harder than her own, the way she'd imagined a man's lips would feel. Ever since she'd given a fig for the opposite sex, she'd like the little differences between men and women, the subtle differences in their faces and movements. She found herself enjoying the broader set of his shoulders, the different shape of his hands.  
  
_I just did that,_ she thought. _That was my first kiss I was wrong, I am surprised._ She felt tingly and warm as she watched him draw back smiling.  
  
"I'm very happy now," whispered Draco, slipping his arm around her and stroking her cheek fondly. He kissed her on the forehead.  
  
Bella leaned her head against his shoulder and looked up at him. "Me too," she whispered in his ear. "Let's do that again." 


	16. Patron Protector

**Chapter Sixteen  
  
Patron Protector  
**  
It was one of those days that seemed like it would never come to an end. The morning classes had dragged by, and by the end of lunch Bella had got the idea that time had stopped in its tracks and started moving backwards. But lunch was over now, and the class she'd been waiting for was rolling around. She'd never thought to look forward to Defence Against the Dark Arts, but today was an exception. Today they would see if Professor Carmichael thought they were advanced enough to move on to practical magic.  
  
Walking into the classroom, she caught sight of Draco and, smiling broadly, went up to their desk to meet him.  
  
Since their first kiss, just yesterday, they'd barley been apart. She felt better about life just now than she had in ages. It was relief not to have so many things weighing on her mind, with his father out of Azkaban. It had hung over her head like the sword of Damocles for so long that she still smiled when she remembered he was safe in hiding somewhere. And now she had Draco, and not just as a friend anymore. She wondered a little how long it had been in the making, how long he had been looking at her in the same way as she'd been looking at him. She felt happy and ordinary, and a little bit strange. It was good to feel sixteen for once.  
  
The room settled into an expectant silence immediately as Professor Carmichael came through the door. Draco squeezed her hand under the table and she smiled back at him, feeling just a little giddy.  
  
"Good afternoon, everyone," said Professor Carmichael. "I spent the weekend looking over your homework, and I think you'll be glad to know that I've decided you're ready for a practical lesson. I've gotten special permission from Professor Dumbledore to teach this to a sixth year class, but I can see you understand the theory very well, and I believe this class is ready to step up and attempt the Patronus Charm."  
  
There were excited little sounds from all around the room, and Bella noticed some of the Gryffindors nudge and whisper to one another.  
  
"The reason I had to obtain special permission is because of a standard rule that, as your instructor, I must teach you age-appropriate material. Of course, the rule is there in the interest of safety, to protect you from anything so advanced it might be dangerous. Of course, I don't plan to bring in a real dementor to practise on, you can make your minds easy about that. The reason the rule applies to the Patronus Charm is not so much danger as difficulty. I can tell you, most of you will not get much result without a great deal of practice, but trying your hand at it won't hurt you. Before we begin, I'd like to make a quick review..."  
  
Bella nudged Draco and whispered, "Exciting?" He was watching Professor Carmichael demonstrating, paying him close attention for the first time in a while. Bella, who felt she had a high stake in learning the Patronus, had done all of the reading and then some, and knew the technique backwards and forwards and sideways. She didn't really need a review.  
  
After that, they paired off with their desk partners, and discussed how to maintain the memory they were conjuring from. And finally, they began practising the charm.  
  
Some of the Gryffindors had excellent results, and seemed to have practised it before. The results were so impressive she gave a polite nod to Neville Longbottom, who turned pink, and looked away quickly. She turned to Draco, and said, "Can't let them outdo us, can we?" She grinned. But he still looked nervous, and she offered to go first.  
  
She thought hard about the first time she'd met Mr. Malfoy, about realising they were taking her in. She held it until she could remember what it was like to wear robes for the first time.  
  
_"Expecto Patronum!"_ she cried, and a jet of silver vapour shot from the tip of her wand. It lingered for a moment, but it was too indistinct to resemble anything but a cloud of steam.  
  
"You try," she said to Draco.  
  
Draco did as she had done, closing his eyes and thinking hard. Then he opened his eyes and looked at her with a smile. _"Expecto Patromun!"_  
  
His Patronus was much like her own, and like those of most of the others. But it was there. She smiled at him. "Fantastic," she said quietly.  
  
They had been told to practise until just before the end of class, and then try it out one by one for the rest of the class to observe.  
  
By the end of the hour, most of them hadn't made astonishing progress, but the results were still encouraging. Draco and Bella had got it down well enough that they could do the charm at a moments notice, without having to fish for memories. Draco's Patronus was still indistinct, but at least seemed to have legs and a body.  
  
"I think it's a dragon," she said approvingly. He'd seemed happy about it. He liked dragons.  
  
Bella's, on the other hand, was still strangely without detail. It seemed like an almost corporeal jet of light, no longer very fuzzy, but just enough so that she couldn't make it out, like something seen through someone else's glasses.  
  
And now she was watching it twist and turn in midair, seeming to fold into itself and reform. She concentrated harder and it seemed to come a little clearer. She thought she had almost seen a head. What _was_ it?  
  
Just then, Professor Carmichael called out for them to stop and take their seats again. Bella frowned, annoyed at the interruption.  
  
One by one, they went down to the front of the class and performed the charm. There were a few whose Patronuses were recognisable animals, and they received thunderous applause from their classmates.  
  
When it came to Draco's turn, Bella clasped her hands I her lap, silently watching him and smiling encouragingly. Their eyes met briefly and she winked at him.  
  
Loud clapping burst from the Slytherins as his almost-dragon soared over the class. He came back to his seat looking pleased.  
  
And then it was Bella's turn, and she walked up to the front of the class, smiling nervously. She'd never been onstage before, but guessed that this was what stage fright was like. Definitely not the time for it, though. _Best to get it done,_ she thought, _before I have a chance to mess it up.  
_  
She held out her wand. She looked at Professor Carmichael and saw he was watching her expectantly. She felt her dislike for the man rising in her like steam in a teakettle. Bella pictured Mr. Malfoy free, and when she could see the _Daily Prophet's_ headline like it was floating in front of her, she opened her eyes.  
  
_"Expecto Patronum!"_ She saw the Patronus erupt from the end of her wand and soar straight over the heads of the class. Everyone gasped and one girl near the front gave a little scream.  
  
A serpent of silver light coiled and writhed and arched in the air, baring its fangs and flicking its tongue. It rose protectively in front of her, large and solid. Bella's eyes were so wide she thought they would fall right out of her head. For a moment she held her breath before she remembered where she was and what she was doing. When she lowered her wand and let the Patronus dissipate, she looked around the classroom and saw every pair of eyes stuck to her like glue. It was silent as the grave. Even Carmichael looked a bit put off, staring at her with a look that was half startled and half impressed. He recovered quickly.  
  
"Very well done, Miss Thorne. Twenty points to Slytherin for outstanding progress," he said slowly, with the ghost of an approving smile.  
  
The Slytherins erupted with applause again, and Bella felt herself blushing despite her discomfiture. "Thank you, sir," she said, sounding calculatedly modest and surprised. She walked back to her seat through the congratulations of her classmates and sat down next to Draco, who was staring at her looking extremely surprised.  
  
"How did you do that?" he whispered to her, as soon as Carmichael's back was turned.  
  
She threw up her hands. "I really don't know! It was almost solid when he interrupted us, you saw. But then when I did it up there, I don't know, it just...solidified. I was nervous, you know, and I did it really fast. I thought of my memory, but I did the charm really fast, and I didn't even think of the memory when I did it, I just felt it. I guess that's what you're supposed to do..."  
  
"Damn good though...even _he_ gave you points." Draco cocked an eyebrow, but she could see that he was pleased.  
  
But as Bella looked at the rest of the class, she saw more than one of them quickly avert their eyes. There was one exception, though. Harry Potter was staring straight back at her with his eyes narrowed in suspicion. Suspicion of what, though?  
  
But even as she wondered, she was getting an idea. She wished more than anything just then that she knew what made the Patronus take its shape. Nothing really seemed to explain it. What did he know? This time it was Bella who looked away.


	17. Silver Light

**Chapter 17  
  
Silver Light  
**  
It wasn't until later that day that Bella had time to think at length about what had happened in class. There had been a long exam in Potions that she'd forced herself to focus on, and she had gone to watch Draco's Quidditch practise. Now she was looking back on it from a chair in front of the fire, still dumbfounded. She leaned on Draco's shoulder and closed her eyes, picturing the silver snake again.  
  
Was it such a surprise? Maybe she was wondering about nothing. But whatever had given the Patronus its shape had had nothing to do with her, and it hadn't come from nothing. Maybe they just took the shape of some aspect of the wizard's mind. Draco's was his namesake, and he was interested in dragons. It couldn't be a random chance.  
  
"Sleepy?" Draco's voice roused her from her thoughts. She opened her eyes, and blinked and sighed.  
  
"No, just thinking." She looked at him. "Draco, what do you think makes a Patronus take its shape? Why is it the animal it is?"  
  
"No idea. Still thinking of it, then?"  
  
She nodded. "Yeah. But what do you _think? _Not a pop quiz, just a wild guess. I wasn't expecting a kitten or anything, but I still don't understand it. I mean, yours makes sense, but I can't find a reason for mine."  
  
He gave her a playful smile. "Maybe it's just the serpent in you," he said. But then, in a more serious voice, "It bothers you, doesn't it?"  
  
She stared at the fire for a moment. "No...I guess not. I just feel like it should make sense. I want to know. And I'm not about to go find Carmichael after hours and have a sit down with him." She paused. "Did you ever ask Professor Snape my dementor question?"  
  
"No, I haven't got a chance to yet. Thinking of asking him?"  
  
"I'd like to, if you think he'd know, and he'd help me."  
  
"I'm sure he'd have a better idea than I do. And he likes you. I bet he's glad to have a Slytherin that answers as many questions as Granger. I don't see why he wouldn't answer a few of yours."  
  
"So you think it's a good idea? When should I ask him, though?"  
  
"He's probably down in the dungeons, it's still early."  
  
She only hesitated for a moment, wondering if he'd appreciate being disturbed. But after a second thought she realise she wanted to know about this more than she minded disturbing him "I think I'll try and find him," she said after a few minutes. "It couldn't hurt, I suppose." She started to get up. "I'll be back as soon as I can," she whispered, kissing him slowly. "If anyone asks, I'm in the library."  
  
I'll wait up for you. And good luck."  
  
And so Bella made her way down to the dungeons. When she reached the classroom door she rapped on it, and after a moment, she heard Snape's voice from the other side say, "Come in." She pushed the door open.  
  
He was sitting at his desk, with a stack of exams in front of him and a quill in his hand. As she entered, he looked up, and then slowly put down the quill. "Can I help you?" he asked quietly  
  
She didn't know what she had been going to say, but till that moment she'd been sure it would be something casual and intelligent sounding, not awkward at all. But then, like in nightmares about giving speeches, the words evaporated on her lips. "I...um, I wanted to ask you something, sir...Draco said that –that maybe you'd know."  
  
A flicker of interest crossed his face. "Yes?"  
  
"Well, I know you know a lot about Defence Against the Dark Arts and...well, to be honest, I'd rather ask you than Professor Carmichael."  
  
"Yes, I can see why. Go on."  
  
"Well, er, I wanted to ask...What is it that makes a Patronus? Not the thing itself, but the shape it takes?"  
  
"Ahh...," he said slowly. "Has this been on your mind long?"  
  
"Only since this afternoon, sir. Why?"  
  
"Because you're not a careless student, Miss Thorne, and you seem to have made some careless errors on your exam. I wondered, but I'll take this into consideration determining you grade."  
  
"Ah," said Bella, a little nervously. She felt very strange, standing here. She hadn't spoken to Professor Snape outside of class since his first night back.  
  
"Well, a Patronus draws on the memory to form itself, but its shape is usually more difficult to explain. What form does yours take, if you don't mind me asking?"  
  
She took a slow breath. "A serpent, sir. An enormous snake. We practiced in class, and it didn't look like anything till I had to do it in front of everyone. And then it was there, as big as day. It scared some people."  
  
There was a slight curve of his lips. "I see. Somehow, I'm not surprised it frightened them. Well, sometimes the explanation can be as simple as a pet or a favourite animal. But since you're asking me about it, I think I can assume it isn't so simple?" Bella nodded. "Well, sometimes the Patronus can be very complex, reflecting the history, even the ancestry of the one casting it." He frowned slightly as he said this, as if thinking of something unpleasant, but the expression quickly passed.  
  
His voice had never altered its smooth, explanatory tone, but this last sentence rang out to Bella like a clap of thunder. She started involuntarily, and put her hand to her mouth to disguise the fact that her jaw had dropped open. "Oh," she breathed, barley above a whisper. She was very surprised, and trying to seem normal taxed even her considerable skill as a liar. And apparently she failed, because she saw Snape's eyebrows raise up and his look sharpen.  
  
"This interests you?"  
  
Without thinking, she nodded. There was no use passing this off as idle curiosity. "Yes, sir...but I never knew my parents. If you don't know the story, I was raised by Muggles. The only reason I was even given my proper name is a bracelet I was wearing when I was found, like the kind they give to babies."  
  
"Oh, I've heard, make no mistake about that. You were quite a surprise, Miss Thorne, to all of us. Ursula and Maxim Thorne were your parents, I believe?"  
  
Bella faltered. "Yes..." she began, and then stopped short. Would it do any good to tell him? Would it do any harm? But the risk seemed worth it, if he could tell her anything at all... "But, Professor? Can I tell you something? In confidence, I mean?"  
  
"Certainly, Miss Thorne. Unless you tell me something that immediately endangers you, it will not leave this room."  
  
She was silent a moment, thinking of how to say it. "Professor, I don't think Maxim Thorne was my father." She looked up at him, searching for some reaction, but beyond another lift of the eyebrows, she could read nothing from his face.  
  
"And why do you think this, Miss Thorne?" he asked quietly.  
  
She told him about the article. "He died in February, and I wasn't born until at least the next spring. Nobody else seems to have put this together...I don't know if it matters now, if it makes any difference. But that's all I know."  
  
"Certainly it makes a difference," he said. "It obviously matters to _you."_ He leaned back in his chair and looked at her for a moment, saying nothing. "You are a human concoction, just like any of us. And like anything wit a mind of its own, you're wondering where your ingredients came from. Forgive the analogy, but teaching Potions will make one see things this way."  
  
"No, sir, that's quite true," she said softly, almost to herself. "That's it exactly. I think I was mislabelled." She laughed nervously. "Do you know...if there's any way to find out who...who my father is?" She stopped, wondering if she had asked too much.  
  
He regarded her over his long, steepled fingers. "And if say yes, will you stop at nothing to find out?" There was a touch of curiosity in his voice now.  
  
"I might." She bit her lip. "Well, yes," she said honestly.  
  
He fell silent, and didn't speak for a moment. He was infuriatingly inscrutable. She still felt he had taken an interest in her situation, but she couldn't tell what he thought of it. She didn't dare expect him to do her any favours, but she let herself hope just a little. When he finally spoke, it was with a slight hesitation, and a searching, analytical look in his eyes. "Do you know what the Separator Solution is, Miss Thorne?"  
  
She'd heard the name before, but only in passing. She shook her head. "I've heard of it, but I don't know what it does."  
  
"It is a very complex potion. Given a sample of a person's blood, it will recreate an image of them, made up of the sum of their parts, so to speak. When properly handled, it can separate these traits into two parts, and show you which ones came from the mother, and which from the father. A very well made Separator can differentiate between wizardkind and Muggles, even to go so far as to differentiate between a Pureblood wizard and a Muggleborn. Their images appear in different shades. Do you follow me?"  
  
"Yes, sir. It sounds a little like what Muggles use, for DNA analysis."  
  
"Yes, but the Separator is much more subtle. Although, I'm sure you've guessed, it cannot give you your father's name, only his image."  
  
"I understand, sir. But a picture is better than nothing at all. So...so does that mean you'll help me?"  
  
She was curious why he seemed so willing to help her. She'd never expected him to even entertain the idea, and certainly not to agree to it without some begging on her part. She was getting the feeling, as she did with most of the Slytherin type, that there was more that one reason why he was doing it. And her own nature was not exactly a trusting one, so she was powerfully curious.  
  
"Yes, I suppose I will. But on one condition."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"You must tell no one I helped you with this. Do you agree?"  
  
"Of course," she said.  
  
"Not even Draco Malfoy?"  
  
"If you say tell no one, I'll tell no one, sir."  
  
"Good." He stood up, and motioned to her to follow him. He unlocked one of the heavy iron doors that led out of the classroom, and she went quietly after him, down into a little stone stairway that got smaller and clammier the farther down they went.  
  
Eventually, after passing through several more doors and going down much farther than she had thought possible, they came to a door that was shorter and broader than any they had yet seen, and made of a different kind of metal, one she didn't recognise. He unlocked it and entered, having to stoop to avoid the low lintel of the door. She followed him in, and he locked the door behind them.  
  
For a moment, Bella found herself in complete, seamless darkness. No light came through under the door, and there were no lights in the room. Then she heard Professor Snape's voice next to her say, _"Lumos!"_ and a light sprang from the tip of his wand. It revealed a circular room, lined with cabinets the whole way round. There was a clear globe hanging from the centre of the ceiling, and a large, silver bowl in the middle of the floor, filled with some clear liquid. She knew better by now than to assume it was anything as simple as water.  
  
He stepped forward and touched the tip of his want to the hanging globe, and it caught the light of his wand and began to glow with a clear white light. He tapped it with his wand and the light changed to a pale blue that reminded her of moonlight .  
  
"What is this place, Professor?" she asked, a little awed.  
  
"This is the room of Projections. The Separator Solution doesn't work alone, nor do many other potions and spells that do similar things. That bowl contains the projecting fluid, to amplify the results so we can see them clearly. Projections should be viewed under the right conditions, because some are so weak they couldn't be seen without this particular light."  
  
"That's why it's the only one in the room, and why the door is sealed against light?"  
  
He gave a little smile. "Yes, but that isn't the only reason. Hasn't it occurred to you that what's passed through this room might not be meant for an idle listener? Often people learn things in this room that they would rather keep to themselves."  
  
Bella swallowed hard, but said nothing.  
  
"Shall we begin?"  
  
She nodded, and he went to one of the cabinets and took out a small bottle made of tinted glass. Inside the cabinet she saw hundreds of others of every shape and size, all labelled, though she couldn't read their tags.  
  
"What do I do?"  
  
He uncorked the bottle and carefully dripped several drops of the solution into the bowl. The liquid was as black as ink until it touched the stuff in the bowl, when it seemed to disappear. He replaced the bottle in the cabinet and took out a small silver knife. "Sit down in front of the bowl, and make a small cut on one of your fingers," he said, giving her the knife. "Just enough to draw blood. The second projection will be clearer, so first you will ask it to show the face and form of your mother, and your father after that."  
  
She mutely accepted the little knife and knelt down on the floor. After a moment of apprehension, she positioned the little razor-sharp point over her left index finger and sliced the tip of it. It was easier than she'd thought. She drew in her breath in a hiss at the insignificant stab of pain, and laid the dagger aside. When she saw the small red drop welling from the wound, she scooted forward and immersed her hand in the liquid.  
  
As her fingers touched the fluid it felt cold, and all of a sudden, her body was surrounded by a mild coolness, as if she'd just stepped into a walk-in refrigerator. She saw the blood form a small dark cloud in the bowl for a moment, and then the liquid began to change. Where it had been clear before, it was turning silver, and it began giving off a pale blue vapour that swirled for a moment like mist over water, and then Bella bit back a gasp as it coalesced into a small, perfect image of herself about four inches high, kneeling with the left hand outstretched. For a moment it gleamed pale blue, and then took on a perfect imitation of her colouring, of her skin and hair and eyes, even her expression. She glanced up at Professor Snape, who was watching her carefully. The tiny Bella in the bowl turned her head as well. He nodded.  
  
"Show me the face and the form of my mother."  
  
She watched in fascination as the little replica glowed blue again, and saw her own tiny features, her hair, and most of her shape dissolve into vapour again. The vapour now swirled into another form, the shape of a woman who looked so much like Bella that one would have to be blind not to see it was her mother. Then the colouring changed, and there, standing on the surface of the projecting fluid, was the same woman she'd seen looking out at her from the Malfoy's photographs.  
  
At first, Bella couldn't move. Her mother's image had fixed its eyes on her, and she was suddenly full of longing to have known this woman, whatever she may have done or what she'd been. She wanted to walk and talk with her, to hear the sound of her voice. She bit down hard on her bottom lip, and looked away, blinking back tears. The slight coolness she felt all over turned to gooseflesh for a minute, and then relaxed, leaving her a little dizzy.  
  
After a moment, she took a deep breath and looked back. While looking at the image of her mother she hadn't noticed what was happening to the image of her. It had not resumed its shape or colouring, but was now only a vague human shape without a distinct face. It was transparent in some places, and she could see the outline of the brain and parts of the skeleton through its thin blue surface. But the colour had changed too. Her mother had been all bright, pale blue, but what was left had big, moving patches of grey swirling through with the blue. For a moment she shrank back, not sure what the intruding grey might be, but then she remembered what Professor Snape had said, about the potion revealing the parent's ancestry. Her father was a Half-Blood? Curiosity sent her into action.  
  
"Show me the face and form of my father."  
  
The remaining figure dissolved completely, becoming a tendril of blue steam, still with veins of grey running through it, twisting and forming and then dissolving to reappear somewhere else. And then it formed itself into a column that shifted, all of a sudden, into the shape of a man.  
  
Professor Snape was right, the second image was _much_ clearer. As human colouring replaced the blue-grey surface she found she could see every hair on her father's head, every line on his face. She could see the fingernails on his long, thin fingers, and the facets in his piercing blue eyes.  
  
Bella was struck by the man's face.. It was a cruel, hard, bitter face. It was a face that had seen and suffered terrible things, but had also done terrible things. Though he didn't otherwise look very old, there was grey in his hair, and a sense of many years around his eyes. He gave her an unpleasant feeling, and she found it very hard to look away.  
  
Suddenly, as if from far away, she felt someone shaking her, and heard them calling out to her. Then something gripped her left wrist and pulled her hand out of the bowl.  
  
In a rush she felt warmth envelope her and all the little sounds and smells of the room came flooding back to her. For a moment she looked around, confused. She looked down at the bowl, which was clear again, the two figures gone as if they had never been.  
  
It was Professor Snape, of course, who had pulled her hand out of the bowl and brought her back. And when she looked at him, she found herself becoming even more confused and unsettled. He was staring at her in unmasked disbelief like she was some bizarre hallucination, his breathing rapid and shallow.  
  
"What?" she asked, still very dazed. "Professor? What's wrong?"  
  
As she watched him, his composure returned, slipping over his face like a mask being pulled on inch by inch. He straightened himself, and then said, "Stand up."  
  
Bella obeyed, confused and growing more unnerved by the moment. With a grim expression he went to the bowl and touched the tip of his wand to the surface of the clear fluid, and then waved it over the bowl. _"Evanesco,"_ he said. The clear liquid vanished, and the bowl slowly refilled itself.  
  
Snape turned to her, his black eyes narrow and glittering and his mouth set in a thin, hard line. "Miss Thorne, I'm afraid I cannot keep my word to you."  
  
"What?"  
  
"We are going to see the Headmaster."  
  
Her heart leapt into her mouth. "Why, sir? What happened?"  
  
"We are going to see the Headmaster," he repeated flatly, and then added in a very severe voice, "Bella Thorne, you will not breathe a word of what just happened between here and Professor Dumbledore's office. You will not ask me in the classroom or in the halls. Do you understand?"  
  
"Y –yes," she said, utterly confounded and beginning to be rather frightened. He tapped the globe with his wand and the wand caught light. He tapped it again and the light went out. He unlocked the door, and Bella followed him out into the corridor. She waited while he locked the door again, her mind racing with fear. She tried to think of it logically, to ask herself what could possibly be so bad. She hadn't done anything; it had been the projection that had startled him, the projection he was taking her to Dumbledore about.  
  
She was glad they met no one as she followed his dark form through the halls of the school, walking quickly to keep pace with his long strides.  
  
Finally he came to a halt before a large stone gargoyle. "Blueberry Thingummy," he said, the silly password seeming incongruous coming from him. The gargoyle sprang aside.  
  
Snape led her up a winding staircase and stopped before a polished wooden door. He rapped on it and entered without a word to her when Albus Dumbledore's voice told them to come in.  
  
As they stepped into the office, Bella watched Dumbledore carefully as his eyes swept over the two of them.  
  
"Good evening, Severus," he said pleasantly. "I don't often see you drag members of your own house into my office at this time of night. What seems to be the problem?"  
  
Snape took a deep breath and said, Headmaster, I've just learned something quite singular about Miss Thorne here. It concerns her father." He related quickly how he had come to take her to the Projection room.  
  
"And what did you see? Please sit down." He still seemed unperturbed. Bella did as she was asked, but Snape remained standing behind her chair. Bella had never quite known what to make of Albus Dumbledore. He was even harder to interpret than Snape, though much more subtly so.  
  
In answer, Snape took out his wand. "If you'll allow me?" he asked. Dumbledore made a small gesture of assent, and Snape pointed his wand at the desk. _"Recanto Projection!"_  
  
A streak of blue vapour came from the tip of his wand and a paler reproduction of the two figures in the bowl appeared on the desk. Dumbledore watched them for a moment, his face growing grave. He nodded to Snape, who lowered his wand and the images vanished. Dumbledore raised his eyes to Bella.  
  
She couldn't stand this anymore, and at last she burst out, "Will one of you please, _please_ tell me what's going on? Who is that man?"  
  
It was a moment before Dumbledore spoke. She got the feeling that he was reading her, trying to gauge her reaction, and she was aware that, much the way Professor Snape had earlier, he seemed to be pulling on some invisible mask. It was as though a curtain had been pulled behind his eyes. "That man," he said slowly, "is Tom Riddle."  
  
Bella looked round at the two men. Snape's eyes were fixed on Dumbledore, and Dumbledore was still looking at them both with a mild, but serious face. "Who is that?" she asked. "I really don't understand." She was getting the awful feeling that she ought never to have tried to find out in the first place.  
  
The Headmaster wet his lips. He seemed to be thinking of how to phrase what he was about to say. When he spoke it was in the same calm, quiet voice he had used all along. "Tom Riddle is the true name of a very famous wizard. You would know him better as Lord Voldemort."  
  
There was another moment of silence in which Bella's insides turned to ice and she saw Snape's hand tighten on the back of her chair. She opened her mouth to speak but found she couldn't speak. What could she say? What could she possibly say to that? When she heard her own voice at last it was like hearing another person talking through her, a person who sounded choked and frail. "No...that's not possible..." she said, but then stopped herself. But it was possible, wasn't it? It was true. She had seen him. Now she knew the truth, she felt she could match that cruel face to all the stories she'd ever heard about him. This wasn't a lie, this wasn't a mistake. It was just...she closed her eyes.  
  
"Bella, I'm sure this is a shock to you."  
  
Dumbledore's words snapped her back. Suddenly, all the things she thought of saying were tumbling out of her like gumballs from a broken machine. "I thought it was bad knowing nothing...it was all I knew for so damned long. But this is worse, this is so much worse, oh god, goddamn, goddamn!" She opened her eyes again. She was breathing hard. She looked from Dumbledore to Snape, and then said in a very quiet voice, "You won't tell anyone, will you?" Snape and the Headmaster exchanged a look, but neither said anything at first.  
  
"Of course not," said Dumbledore at length. He sighed a little, and turned to Snape. "Severus, I wish to have a word with Miss Thorne alone. Will you leave us? I shall send for you later."  
  
Snape nodded, looking both relieved and reluctant. "Yes, Headmaster. You know where to find me." He turned and swept out the door, but not before Bella caught him looking at her with a sharp, analytical look, one that was somehow different than she'd expected. The door swung shut behind him, shutting her in the room with Dumbledore.  
  
"I can't believe this," she said in a shell-shocked voice. "Please, sir, tell me this is some mistake." There words sounded desperate and stupid aloud. She knew they were, but couldn't help herself.  
  
"I could do that Bella, but you know that if I did I would be lying through my teeth." When Bella said nothing, he went on. "I know you can't be happy, learning who your father is like this."  
  
"Happy? You expect me to be happy?" She knew she was being rude, she was acting like a fool, but she couldn't stop herself. "Are you surprised? I wish to god I'd never asked!"  
  
"I'm sure it must seem that way now. You'll curse that knowledge a thousand times over, but some day, you will be glad you know. The most important things we ever learn are often the most painful. The answer is yours, to do with as you like. There is a choice that comes with it." He paused, as if expecting her to say something. When she did not, he went on. "If there is one cardinal fault among Slytherins, it seems to me that it is putting too much faith in the bloodlines, and not enough in the end product, in the witch herself."  
  
Bella looked down at her hands. What he was saying was true, and she knew it. But still... "I know that, sir, I mean, I know I'm not my parents. But I can't forget it. My father is evil. People are afraid to say his name, and I owe part of my existence to him..."  
  
"To say nothing of your abilities," put in Dumbledore.  
  
"Yes, and..." she stopped. _"What?"  
_  
Dumbledore smiled. "Voldemort is a very powerful wizard. It doesn't surprise me in the least that his daughter is a very talented witch. The very fact that you could produce a Patronus after so little practice, to say nothing of your skill as a Legilimens..."  
  
She stared at him. "Legilimency? But I can't do that...from what I know about it –and it's not much –oh, hell." She cut herself off. That was what Carmichael had meant! What on Earth did he think she'd been trying to do? "Okay, so maybe you're right," she said slowly. "But I can't _really_, I mean, I can read people's faces, I've always been able to do that. But isn't Legilimency a lot more...powerful?" She had forgotten what she had been saying a moment ago. This was really too much.  
  
"Legilimency is a thing of the mind, in this case, of mind against mind. Things like that are never clear-cut. They work by degrees. I'm sure you have a gift for reading faces, child, but I'd bet my life that you can learn more from a single blink than any ordinary witch. You absorb their thoughts as easily as breathing, without even knowing it."  
  
"Is that why...I wanted to ask Professor Snape before...There's this thing that happens to me around dementors, I can't really explain it, but I start seeing these things, remembering things that never happened to me. It's terrible. I can't move, I can't do anything but remember." Just describing it aloud brought back the way she'd felt in that corridor in Azkaban, made her feel cold and frightened again. "I never thought...I didn't know those were real, I thought I was going crazy."  
  
"A natural Legilimens faces trouble that someone who simply learns it will never experience. Some often think they are losing their minds. I'm well aware of your upbringing, and I believe that if you had grown up among wizard-kind, your talent would have been recognised, explained to you before now. You would have been trained to use it, how to extract the thoughts you wished to see and block the ones you did not. It would have made you a different person in a thousand different ways, but it is up to you to decide which road you would rather have taken."  
  
"Sir, I know...I know what you must think about me," she began, but he stopped her.  
  
"Do you? Because, in the last few minutes, it has changed a great deal."  
  
"Has it, sir?" She looked at him harder. Dumbledore was the last person she would have thought to say that, if he really meant what she thought. "Is there someone else in this room that thinks I wasn't cut out for this war?"  
  
"I never said that, child, but I can tell that all you've seen and heard has not sat well with your conscience."  
  
"I can't say that it has, but that's just it, sir. I can't take sides in this! I don't want the Dark Lord to take over, I couldn't if I tried. But if I hope for the other...then I'm wishing ruin on people I love. I can't do that either, Professor Dumbledore. I don't know what I can do. I'm at a dead end."  
  
"There is no wise and simple answer to your question, though I wish I could give you one. But there will come a time when your choice will have to be made, and I hope for all our sakes that you will make the right one. If you choose to fight, you will be an asset to the side you join and the fear of your enemies. And I know you aren't one to sit and watch. All who take sides must make this choice, even Voldemort himself made it once, long ago. Do not forget this."  
  
She nodded. "I won't sir. But I'm still afraid."  
  
"All that proves is that you are intelligent enough to question what you're told. What is it that frightens you?"  
  
"I inherited this power, and whatever other ones, I don't even know, from the most evil wizard in living memory. It's bloody scary. I don't know if I'd have used them when I didn't know that, but now...I guess I could stop..."  
  
"No, no, Bella. Don't do that. It would be a waste of talent, and a shameful one. Legilimency is not an evil skill, by any means. It can be used to very good ends. And you, with your gift, should never think that learning to use it is an evil thing."  
  
"Yes, I suppose," she said, a little apprehensively, uncertain.  
  
"Bella, I do not know what it will take to convince you that there is nothing evil about you if you don't want there to be. But there is something you should know about him."  
  
"What?"  
  
"That you have lived, up till now, a life very similar to that of Tom Riddle. He was an orphan too, raised among Muggles. His father was a Muggle. And the difference between the two of you is already greater than I could have imagined. You too have lived in difficult times, in the face of adversity. And you have come through it, without becoming bitter and cold and uncaring. Yet you are powerful, intelligent, and strong. Your similarities show your differences better than anything else could. Yes, he is a part of you. You will never forget that. But don't let that overshadow the fact that the whole is always greater than the sum of the parts, and that you were yourself before you were anyone's daughter."  
  
"That's true sir. I've thought that before, a long time ago, when I lived with the Muggles. Back then, I thought my parents were just junkies or drifters or something. I thought I'd been fished out of a rubbish bin. And of course, you know, I had those days where I wondered why I was there at all, when I thought no one had ever cared a whit for me my entire life. All that saved me back then was thinking that no one cared enough to make something of me, and I'd have to do it myself. And it's different now, I mean, I know there are people that care for me, who want to help me. But it still comes down to what I want to do. And I know I don't want to join with...with Voldemort." The name felt strange on her lips, with its stigma of mingled respect and fear that she'd been surrounded by for so long. It was surreal and eerie to know that, out of all the sidestepping, euphemistic nicknames that people had for Voldemort, she alone could call him father. It made her feel a little ill.  
  
"I'm glad to hear you say that," said Dumbledore. "I know the choice is hard to make. You'll second-guess yourself before this is over, but I trust you to choose your path wisely."  
  
"Thank you, sir," said Bella. She saw Dumbledore in a new light. She had only spoken with him a few times while she'd been at Hogwarts, never for very long or about anything spectacularly important. She had thought him a kind old man, good at relating to the students. She knew he had powers she probably couldn't imagine. But now there was something different that she saw, looking out of his clear blue eyes. He really did believe her. The mask was down now. He believed she was strong enough, smart enough, human enough, to look through sharp eyes at the things she was offered and to choose the right ones. It was trust that she saw looking over the table at her. Despite herself, Bella felt a little happier.  
  
"Now, there is something that I must ask of you, Bella."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"You were serious about not wanting anyone to know about this, about wanting to keep your father's identity a secret, were you not?"  
  
"Absolutely, sir."  
  
"Then you must promise me that you will tell no one, not your closest friend, what you learned tonight. It might put you in danger from people on both sides of this fight. Do you agree?"  
  
"Of course, sir, but..." Snape knew! He would tell Voldemort, sure as anything, but how was she to tell Dumbledore that? "I don't think you'll have to worry about _me..."  
_  
"Oh, you were worrying about Professor Snape! You can rest you mind about him, I assure you, you will be in no danger from Severus." And he gave her such a look with these words that Bella almost believed him. Long ago she had read about Paddington Bear, and the special hard stares that he had learned from his Aunt Lucy. She was strangely reminded of that just then.  
  
"If you say so, Professor, I'll believe you," she said at length. "I swear to you I'll keep this under my hat so far I'll forget it's there." She smiled wanly at the halt-hearted joke.  
  
"Very well, then, you're free to go. Have a good night. I hope you don't lose sleep over this."  
  
"Goodnight, sir. Oh, and thank you. Really, for everything." Bella stepped out the door, and as soon as it clicked shut behind her, she could hear Dumbledore moving around inside, and then the telltale _whoosh!_ of Floo Powder. She went straight out, past the gargoyle, and paused for a moment in the hall.  
  
What was she going to tell Draco?  
  
This whole adventure hadn't taken very long. He was sure to be waiting up for her when she got back. She frowned, and chewed her lip. She knew what she would tell him. She would tell him nothing. But then, what if he found out some other way? Dumbledore had said not to worry about Professor Snape, but he didn't know about the Professor's divided loyalties...or did he? She didn't know what he was planning to do. The best she could hope for was nothing, and the worst...she didn't know where to begin. Bella hoped she hadn't brought down any trouble on Snape's head.  
  
Sure enough, Draco was waiting for her when she got back to the common room, the only one still up. He rose when he saw her come in, and Bella smiled as he came slowly over to her, and ran a hand down her arm. "Any luck?"  
  
"You could say that, I guess. You were right, I think."  
  
"How?"  
  
"I think it's just the serpent in me." 


End file.
